The Story of Sephiroth
by Daryl Falchion
Summary: Come with me, dear reader, and let me tell you a story...a story of a bioaltered child, a onewinged angel, a demigod...The Story of Sephiroth...Chapter 9 is up!
1. The Story of Sephiroth: Introduction

**_The Story of Sephiroth: _**

From Bio-altered Child to One-winged Angel

By Daryl Falchion

**Birth of a god, Wrath of a god, Death of a god**

"Lashing out the action, returning the reaction...Weak are ripped and torn away...Hypnotizing power, crushing all that cower...Smashing through the boundaries, lunacy has found me...Pounding out aggression, turn into obsession..." (Battery; Metallica; Master of Puppets)

The Enlightened's Lost Tome of Wisdom (Vol. 11, pg. 673): Vengeance– Vengeance–a.k.a. the cycle of pain–is the demon that bleeds the majority of souls. More literally, it calls unto its own another victim...One is burned and, thus, they seek to inflict such torment which, ultimately, leads to additional vengeance. Like a flame that starts as a simple spark it catches fire that transcends to more fires, resulting in the absolute destruction...A deadly chain that sees no end but end itself.


	2. The Story of Sephiroth: Prologue

Book 1

**Birth of a God**

Prologue

**Edification**

_Knock. Knock._

Tentative it came, the rapping on his chamber door. It did not come again. Praying whomever had finally had enough of this damned Shin-ra mansion, Vincent Valentine rolled over in his coffin and ignored the demand. Shutting his eyes, the color of fresh blood, he attempted to fade away from the world that had done him so much wrong...

_Knock. Knock._

But, of course, things were never that easy for him.

Gritting his teeth irritably, the former-Turk cried out, "I'm asleep. Go away!"

He received no answer.

Satisfied that the fool had, indeed, fled, Vincent settled into another, hopefully more comfortable, position. Rather difficult to do in a coffin. His muscles cramped horribly and his body protested the daily persecution of inactivity. Sighing, mildly annoyed at the ache (he'd been in this for thirty years before and hadn't suffered so!), Vincent gathered his flame-emulating cape around him for additional warmth.

"If you're asleep, then why am I hearing your voice?"

_He's got you there, Valentine..._

Another sigh, again of irritation, and Vincent jerked open the lid of his prison. With a grunt and considerable dust it gave way and clanked to the floor. Light, even in this dark chamber, spilled in savaging his delicate eyes. Rubbing them, the former-Turk rose and crawled out.

"Are you still...alive...err...dead...ah...there?"

At last, Valentine decided to respond, hoping his deep base tone and menacing pitch would scare off the man. "Yes, I'm here...Do you dare enter knowing it could cost you your life...or your soul?"

_That ought to do it...he's got more ass than most of them..._

A harsh swallow came from the other side of the door. For a moment it seemed like the intruder surrendered to his good sense and made quick his escape. Indeed, the sounds of hastily shuffled feet came to the former-Turk's keen animalistic ears and he sighed, yet again.

But in less than a heartbeat the man was back, whispering, "Well, Mr. Valentine sir, I haven't got much to offer...but if you'll take my soul for the information I'm asking, I'll gladly give it."

_So much for sleep...but then, few people can rest for thirty years and not be disturbed once or twice..._

Tossing his chilling crimson cape over a shoulder, Vincent swept past the room to the door. The items and furniture in the chamber were sparse, but he was hardly in need of much social or physical activity. Shadows birthed here and there, a single candle summoning and dismissing them at whim. Webs like fine silk draped over the corners, some extending the length of a wall.

Vincent flung the door open unceremoniously. Taking aback, the intruder stumbled but quickly straightened. He was a simple man with plain brown hair and clear blue eyes, donning those silly ivory scientist cloaks. In one hand he held a clipboard and the other, a feather stylus. His face contorted with fear and, still, he peered in eagerly.

Flipping his gloved hand, Valentine admitted the eccentric fellow. He swallowed again, perhaps weighing the 'cost of his soul' with the treasure of information he might attain. Like the mouse leaving the safety of his den, so did this man gingerly enter Vincent's domain. And he watched Vincent as if the former-Turk was a cat, too.

But he did enter and, for that, the blood-caped Valentine gave him credit.

"Err...nice place you have...here...sir..." the fellow remarked conversationally. Vincent failed to reply. Then, the man rested one hand on a coffin. "Oh, this feels cold. I wonder..."

"Yikes!" cried he when a spider crawled over him inquisitively. He promptly shook the creature off with a shudder. "Hi...my name's Luke Smith and yours is Vincent Valentine, "

Luke's eyes lit, elated, from managing to obtain a conversation. Eagerly, but mindful of the whole soul part, he lifted a hand. To that, Vincent just observed him coolly. Luke whistled, "Okay, then. Not one for hand-shaking I can see....That's alright. I was warned that you weren't much for formalities."

That did draw the former-Turk's attention. His bloodish eyes flashed dangerously. "Warned? By whom?"

Waving his hand, the intruder promptly seated himself on a coffin. Made himself at home, so to speak. Those navy blue eyes panned the chamber enthusiastically. "Oh, by your former teammates, of course. Cloud said you weren't the talking sort while Tifa added that you were a bit reserved. Cid just shrugged off the subject, Barrett did much the same, and Yuffie said you gave her 'the chills'. I couldn't find Cait Sith within a hundred yards but Red pointed out that you had a lot to deal with–a lot on your mind."

"You've spoken to them all?" This threw the impeccably ordered mind of Vincent's out of sequence. His guard rose, as was his custom. _What does this strange man want? Can no one leave me at peace? I slept thirty years before and I intend to rest for another thirty! _Briefly, he mused with the idea of scaring the man out again, but he dismissed that notion. If Luke had the gall to endure the Shin-ra mansion's 'blood-curdling curses' little would sway him. So, Vincent merely gazed, devoid of expression.

"Yeah, all of them–well, except Cait Sith, as I mentioned. Seeing as you were busy doing...Ah, well, busy...I'll get right to the point–Oh, my, is that really him!?"

To Vincent's mild annoyance, Luke leapt off the casket and snatched up the object that caught his eye. Those eyes, as blue as ocean water, caressed the item in question...that being a portrait of a green-eyed, silver-haired man. The Valentine's guts twisted slightly at the forced remembrance of yet another sin he had committed–slaying his lover's son. And even though he had done so only to save the world, he could feel another stain upon his soul.

_Will I ever be free of it?_

Hands carefully cradling the painting, the scientist-reporter glanced up, whispering, "I guess you figured out my reasons for being here. I am a researcher, investigating the Materia War. Already, I've collected hundreds of resources–Shin-ra secret files, Hojo's and Gast's manuscripts, war journals with Wutai. I've interviewed all of the Avalanche members, Turks, Shin-ra associates. I've even managed to uncover a long-lost diary of the Great man himself." The last accomplishment had Luke grinning like his face was perpetually that stupid.

Vincent said nothing. He knew what the man wanted now; the former-Turk assented with a nod. Though the very thought of opening those old wounds distressed him, it was far better to slice them free of the dark pus of guilt than to let them fester.

His grin still intact, Luke held up the portrait. The man in the picture, his hair like silver moonbeams, lifted a hand to the heavens even as his amazing Katana blade gestured hellward. Luke finally added the unnecessary words, "I have come to complete the final research on the enigma known as Sephiroth. Shall we begin?"


	3. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Blood of the Innocent**

Tiny crystalline flakes, like soft breaths, inundated the whole of Midgar. As if the vast industrial city were but a snowglobe, each sliver of winter swirled around and around to finally determine a place that might be considered 'home'. Howls, feral howls, found ears in the metropolis' higher grounds. Those unfortunate enough to occupy lower residence received little respite from winter's bitter chill.

That chill wind knifed him. He snorted, annoyed. Nearly January and some fool had thought to open the window. A second snort, though not directed at _that_ temerity. Rather, the source of his vexation stood but a few feet from him, grinning like the madman he was.

Grinning, that is, until another particularly valuable jar promptly shattered on the floor, a victim of the storm.

"God dammit!" cursed Hojo as he snaked out a hand in a futile effort. He snarled, "This blasted storm disrupts my concentration." The beady black eyes of Hojo narrowed on him, a tall dark man against the far wall, in cruel scrutiny but if the gaze annoyed him any he guardedly exhibited no indication of it.

_After all, a Turk has no emotions, no feelings...and yet...I do, don't I?_

"Nurse!" Hojo barked. A young woman, about mid-twenties, hastily made herself available. Previously, she'd been attending the only other occupant of the room, another woman with long brown hair, bed-ridden. But she would stir no wrath in Hojo and came to his side at once.

Wringing her hands, the nurse sputtered, "Ah, yes?"

"Shut that damnable window before it blows me to hell!"

_Not such a terrible thing..._

More howls, like that of the damned soul, tore through outside as savage gusts billowed the cream-colored shroud in stunning regularity. Briefly the winds would die down, fooling you into thinking they'd vanished, then another powerful winter scream proved you wrong. Snow clung to the glass pane. It slid down in patterns, either in resisting chunks or slivering strings. Such was the tenacity of the winds, in fact, that it succeeded in agitating a number of the chamber's fragile vials.

"Yes, Hojo." Immediately, the white-cloaked nurse skittered to the offending object. With a forceful jerk and she slammed it shut. Still, the wind rattled all within.

Her pale blue eyes flickered over at Hojo in anticipation of another order. No order was forthcoming so she returned to her duties as midwife. The scientist didn't command respect, and even less reverence, but he did inspire fear. Hojo–a man not to be crossed.

_Nevertheless, I have defied him. _No trepidation, or regret, accompanied that inner thought. It was a statement and one he would never regret. Still, he would have to tread carefully. You can walk over broken glass but you better be damn careful about it. Only a fool strode through fire blind.

And who thought this? The dark figure leaning against a nondescript wall. His hooded, detached navy eyes absorbed the scene but, like a one-sided mirror, reflected little in return. A powerful gun lingered perpetually at his side appropriately known as Death Penalty. As his occupation dictated, that of a Turk, the man donned a crisp dark blue suit. Soot-black hair dangled before a cool visage as he rested a chin in his hand.

Vincent Valentine.

Vincent's eyes of china blue roamed the scene, masking his repulsion and frustration as benefiting his station as Turk. Himself, the half-brilliant, half-lunatic Hojo, the anxious-to-please nurse and her charge were the only ones remaining in the room. The scientist had screamed all others out. He would have rid the chamber of Vincent, too, had he been able. But the Valentine had stated, in no uncertain terms, that Shin-ra decreed his movements and not Hojo. He would no sooner leave the room than permit the stars to fall from the sky.

No, not room, laboratory. Long selves lined the plain ivory walls, crammed with jars, glass vials, and containers. Hojo currently hunched over a desk recording the progress of the labor. Mutterings came from his corner. His small inhuman eyes skimmed over Vincent as if examing an insect beneath a microscope but the Turk was disciplined enough only to return a cold glare. He hated Hojo and the scientist returned the aversion in kind.

It was an amusing but deadly game. Since Hojo tasks were of a scientific nature that demanded close guarding, Vincent was assigned to watch over the weasely man. At first, Vincent abhorred the duty. He'd rather shoot himself in the mouth than spend more than a moment in the wicked man's presence. But then, he met Lucrecia...

"Ugh! I–I think he's coming!" shrieked the woman inhabiting the bed. Sweat beaded her brow. Her gasps came thin. "Hojo! He's coming!"

Vincent stiffened as the witnessed the woman's struggles. Yes, his beloved, beautiful, gold-hearted Lucrecia was reduced to that miserable cot. It sickened him to watch the drama unravel. Hojo spun one-eighty to stoop by Lucrecia, an avarice grin on his lips. The nurse instantly attended her, mopping her forehead. It was happening. It was actually happening.

_Of course, it's happening. She's been pregnant for months now. The baby's due, over due. _

Still, hearing the wicked cries of the wind, the Turk couldn't repress a shudder.

Lucrecia. The sole light in the darkness of his humanity. The sweaty, death-hued, hair-frayed woman on the bed. The angel that brought such warmth and love to the cold, loveless, unloved, heart of Vincent Valentine.

Vincent had never thought he _could_ be loved. He didn't know his father; knew little more of his mother. As a youth, the homeless teen had been lured to the bloodstained employment of a Turk. Despicable as it was, it was all he had.

Then he met Lucrecia. Hojo had introduced the two, ironically enough, since Vincent was also duty-bound to protect the members of the Jenova project–Hojo, Lucrecia, and the leader of the operation, astute Gast. Because Hojo's and Gast's duties made them indisposed for a lengthy time, Vincent and Lucrecia were frequently left together...And the lovely, lonely scientist and he drew close...very close...

Then he learned she was married...to Hojo.

Screams shattered that black train of thought. Vincent swallowed his odd mixture of concern and disgust. Hojo, needle in hand, probed Lucrecia, collecting his damnable research. The decidedly flustered nurse encouraged the pained woman. And all the while the winds continued with the screeching procession, surging the curtains like the waves of a virulent sea.

Lucrecia screamed. Vincent winced.

He was helpless. He could nothing.

And on she screamed.

The Turk had learned she was wed to, of all the men in Midgar, Hojo. It enraged him, saddened him to be used in such a nefarious manner as 'the other man'. But it was too late to shut the facet off of the emotion of love now–he was in too deep. And, truthfully, he didn't blame Lucrecia. All the anger was directed at himself, and Hojo. _They_ had torn her in the middle, playing such a dirty game of a triangle. And so, he remained her private lover, the two trysting in secret blissful moments while Hojo was busy with experiments. Oh, it was a deadly game they played. If Hojo ever found them out...

_But he must never know. _

Carefully, the Turk folded the emotions into neat little piles like one might do to cloth and schooled his expression into neutral. The ideal tactic was to act as if nothing were out of the norm. And still, his every nerve screamed, as Lucrecia, herself, screamed. Oh, how he longed to swallowed the distance between them and take her into his arms. But he could not. Dare not.

Rivulets of blood crimsoned the blankets as Lucrecia pushed. More sweat crawled her face, making it seem drenched in seawater, her eyes cast about in a daze. Hojo snapped at her to speed up the process, anxious to perform his abominable experiments on the child. The nurse just rushed back from the rattling window to the young woman and generally made a nuisance of herself. At length, Hojo irritably dismissed her.

That alarmed Vincent. Though his face was as cold and smooth as an ice-block his mind swirled. _What is he doing? Is he planning on delivering the infant himself? That's madness!_

Madness defined Hojo.

Vincent learned that fact when he discovered the wicked man's awful schemes. Hojo devised a plan to impregnate his wife and experiment on their child with 'powers of the Ancients'. Years ago the Shin-ra Science Department uncovered a frozen entity they believed to be one of the long-lost Cetra, or Ancient, and they named it Jenova. Since then, Hojo experimented on animals, installing them with the creature's cells, to determine the effects.

The effects were stunning. Every being injected with the cells became both physically and mentally more proficient. So, Hojo decided to test it on a human–his own child. Against Vincent's impassioned protests, Lucrecia agreed to conceive a child with Hojo and to have that child implanted with Jenova cells. The Turk never did understand why; that is, until he learned that Hojo sugarcoated the whole matter, claiming that the infant would save their marriage and guarantee their scientific success.

Yes, madness defined Hojo. Madness and ruthlessness.

"Push, dammit! Push!" Hojo howled at Lucrecia. He thrust his hands under the drenched blankets. More blood gushed out, disturbing Vincent all that much more. Hojo was hardly a suitable midwife. Still, he remained inactive. If he were to express his unique interest in her welfare then the secret would be out.

And God help him if it did come out–because only God could.

"PUSH!"

All Lucrecia did was wail in return.

Then the window shattered.

The child had finally arrived.

Hojo withdrew from the bloody folds, carrying a filthy baby boy. Lucrecia cried out, overjoyed for both the release of her pain and the emergence of her child. Even Vincent, who'd stayed physically unmoved by the situation, couldn't help a relieved sigh. As for the broken window, it allowed admittance for more sheet and wind than ever before.

"Victory," hissed Hojo. His eyes glittered vilely. "Sweet victory."

Vincent gritted his teeth at the declaration. The scientist had little concern for Lucrecia's well being. He had eyes only for the infant and his accursed scientific success. It made him ill.

Worse yet, Hojo's answers to Lucrecia incited fury.

"Oh, Hojo, he's beautiful! Let me hold him!" She extended her hands eagerly.

Hojo pulled the child away. His face hardened. "I think not, Lucrecia. The boy still has many more experiments to go through. I must inject him with more Jenova cells and Mako now so, as he grows, he will be the strongest man alive. My child–my victory."

Still ignoring the pleas, the scientist lifted the baby boy onto a table and promptly jammed needles into the child's arms, legs, and torso. The baby wailed hideously. Lucrecia answered the cries with those of her own. Hojo continued with his malicious work, producing an instrument and jabbing it on the back of the infant's hand, tattooing a number 'one' on him. Another horrible cry, harsher than the window's untimely demise and sure to melt the blackest heart.

It did not melt Hojo's.

It did melt Vincent's.

"What are you doing to that poor child, Hojo? Give him to his mother."

"Shut up, Turk! This is not your affair."

The child wailed as blood streamed his knuckles. In response, Hojo slapped the child's cheek harshly. "You shut up, too! From now on, brat, I own you. You'll do as you're commanded. I created you–I can break you."

His navy eyes ablaze, Vincent turned to the fainting Lucrecia. He almost went into cardiac arrest as he observed the crimson life streaking the coarse fabric. Her lips tinted bluish-white. Her face was ashened. Her eyes dilated. She looked as one dead.

And she might be, real soon.

Dismissing the child's plight from his mind temporarily, the Turk wrapped Lucrecia in the blankets, attempting to stanch the blood flow. He made her as comfortable as possible. Then Vincent flung open the door and called out to any medical officials in the vicinity. All the while, Hojo scorned him, proceeding with his sadistic testing.

One doctor appeared, aghast at the sight. He immediately set to task to decrease the blood hemorrhaging. Vincent, placing the gun on a stool, aided him to the best of his abilities, which wasn't much. Outside, the wind slashed relentlessly.

After being assured of Lucrecia's condition, the doctor left. He had instructed Vincent to watch over the woman and to notify him if the situation changed. The Turk pledged faithfully to do so. Vincent's heart thundered in his ears and his blood boiled.

Tossing his obsidian bangs aside, the Turk growled, "What about Lucrecia?! Can't you damn well let her see _her_ child at least once?"

Hojo turned his wicked eyes on Vincent. The Turk gasped. Those pupils flashed like two windows into the gates of hell. "Mind your business, Turk! I'm warning you!"

Rage exploded within Vincent. This abominable man had pushed him too far. He had treated the woman Vincent loved like an insect. He experimented ruthlessly, with no concern for human life. Now, he denied a poor ailing woman, his own wife for God's sake, the opportunity to hold her own son.

"No, you bastard! You've gone far. Someone should have stopped your cruelty long before this!" With that, Vincent grabbed the baby boy and backed away, nearer Lucrecia. He intended to give the woman her son and to put Hojo in his place.

The scientist attempted to stop him but was too late. Long had Vincent practiced the art of agility, as it was a must in his pernicious profession. Hojo stepped forward, face twisted in hate, demanded the return of his son. But Vincent refused.

In a flash movement, Hojo snared up a weapon and aimed it at Lucrecia. The Turk was stunned when he realized what it was–Death penalty,_ his_ weapon.

And the wind howled cruelly.

"Give the child to me, Turk and no one gets hurt."

Vincent's eyebrows lifted dramatically. "You'd shoot your own wife!"

The laughter was inhuman. "She matters little to me now. She bore me a child–that's the extent of her usefulness to me."

Stunned and repulsed, the Turk turned to look at his love. Lucrecia lay on the blankets, too exhausted to move. Her caramel curls spilled onto the modest white pillow as she was coiled in more pearly blankets. Seeing her now, in her fragile loveliness, Vincent knew he could never let Lucrecia go.

_Forgive me, child, for your blood is on my hands like so many others..._

He passed the baby boy over to Hojo.

Cradling the infant with one hand and the weapon with the other, the scientist backed off. He flanked the laboratory table, beady eyes on Vincent. "You may take your whore, _Vincent_!"

A hitch snagged Vincent's breath. Was Hojo insinuating that he knew of the affair? The Turk searched Hojo's expression...Yes! Yes, he was!

Chilled, Vincent immediately turned to Lucrecia and prepared to lift her up in his arms. He would leave this dreadful place and take his love with him. Her protection from this madman's schemes were paramount. Maybe Vincent could kidnap the baby, later...

"Oh,_ Vincent_."

The Turk revolved his head.

"I lied." Leveling the gun at the Valentine's head, Hojo fired.

In self-preservation, Vincent flung a hand at his forehead. The bullet struck flesh at his wrist, cleanly ripping it off. The appendage sailed to the wall and dropped with a sickening_ thud_ to the floor. Blood splattered over the infant and he screamed in horror. Vincent, himself, stared in morbid fascination at the gush of blood that spurted out of his maimed stump.

The agony was inconceivable; it was like a hundred knives. Vincent stifled a scream. Clutching the limb to his chest, he steadfastly remained in front of Lucrecia. Blackness swam up to greet his vision.

Another shot, and another. Like a fallen bookcase, the Turk collapsed to the hardwood floor. The coppery tang of blood flittered his nostrils. His sight faded into nonexistent black. Still, he struggled to right himself. Lucrecia needed him; the child needed him.

But, try as he might, Vincent lost consciousness.

The wind howled to a supreme cord that rippled to the soul.

Before he faded from reality words, dreadful words, filled his ears.

"My child, I name you Sephiroth–the creation of destruction."

_Luke gasped. "Oh, my God, that Hojo was a beastly fellow, wasn't he?"_

"_Yes, he was. Human life held no meaning for him–he valued it only so much as how it advanced his scientific research. Once something lived up to its usefulness, he discarded it. His cruelty knew no bounds."_

"_And that's no exaggeration. So what happened then?"_

_Vincent, closing his eyes, sighed. "Hojo imprisoned us both. When he was ready, the bastard took Lucrecia and myself, accompanied by the Turks of that time, to a waterfall cave. There he made me watch as he shot Lucrecia off a cliff with my own gun. Laughing, he tossed Death Penalty into the waters and confined me to his laboratory..."_

_Leaning forward, Luke whispered, "What did he do then?"_

_Vincent's face crawled as if a man in the grips of old haunts. "He tortured me. He experimented on me. Said I might as well serve some purpose. Hojo sawed off my arm and lodged this–" The former-Turk indicated his golden claw. "–onto it. The amount of drugs he used on me I will never accurately remember. But I do remember one thing."_

"_What? What?"_

"_My intense hatred of him. I swore I would make him suffer full measure of the torment he inflicted on Lucrecia. He laughed and claimed I could do nothing. Then, I despaired that he was right. He wrenched away my humanity, gave my soul over to a monster against my will and locked me in a coffin at the bottom of the Shin-ra mansion. And all the while I dreamed and wept...but there's one thing I forgot."_

_Anticipation filled the silence._

"_I forgot...about Sephiroth..."_


	4. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Bio-altered Child**

"I'm bored."

No one answered.

"No, I mean it. I'm REALLY bored."

Still nothing.

"I'm so bored I'm going to scream. AAAAHHHHHH!"

When the third time produced no alternative results he ceased the foolish outburst. And it was quite silly, the boy knew. He was unaccustomed to such emotional displays. Even at the 'tender' age of eight, his demeanor exuded maturity abnormal for his age.

_Not abnormal...just not normal..._

Flawed logic. But with this particular circumstance few children would remain non-hysterical to say nothing of quiet. It really _was _boring. The four plain walls contained his world for the majority of his eight years, with occasional visits to the training facilities and the Shin-ra laboratories. The former he enjoyed; the later he did not. There were no distinguishing features of the diminutive chamber: a modest cot, a chamber pot, and a weathered night stand. No pictures. No posters. No testament to the tortured soul inside.

_Gee...I don't know what's worse...this stinking room or Hojo's lab..._

Images of the cold, terrifying lab in all its hideous glory flashed through the little boy's mind. The cylindrical fluorescent light beared down from the ceiling like some merciless celestial being...the chill of the steel examination table beneath his fragile skin...the thick straps, the metal clamps...the constant prick of the needles and the sickening rush of the drugs and gods-know-what-else coursing in his veins...

Still, at least it dragged him from the insane dreariness of the white nondescript walls that now encircled him.

The memory of a squat figure with vile eyes decided it for him.

Hojo.

_No...No. No. No. I'll take the boredom over him any day._

They young boy glanced around, hoping for some microscopic scrap of entertainment. He finally sighed and resorted to the game of stabbing a pen between his fingers with his unworldly emerald eyes shut. It grew lame fast–you can only perform something so many times before even the most thrilling of diversions dull.

With a huff of disgust, he tossed the pen aside. Ever since his altercation with the other children at the private academy he'd attended, the boy had been shut away from anyone less than twenty years of age. Why, he'd wondered on more than one occasion, was he removed when other disobedient children were not? The only deducement he could make was that he'd been too rough...after all, no one could do the damage he'd done.

_Different...not like the others...stronger...smarter...better..._

In some ways, he'd been overjoyed. Now no more taunts came his way. No more teasing about his hair length or color. No more names like 'freak', 'loser', or 'weirdo'. _Such childish actions. They were the freaks, the losers, the weirdoes. _He told himself it didn't hurt but it did, so much so that he'd surrendered any attempts at making friends–any at all. At least school was no more.

But out from the rain and into the lake...Now he dodged blows instead of insults, suffered pain instead of humiliation. Isolation became his friend. The only thing in his life he could look forward to were the training lessons every day. But, at times, even that could bring him no comfort.

A slight, offending sting distracted the boy from his thoughts and he rubbed it gently to quiet it. Needle marks lined his young body. Endless abuse and neglect had made up the years of his life. Years of cruelty, physically and mentally maiming experiments, had left their imprint. Years of torment from feeling so detached from it, so different–so unloved.

Love? Did he even know its meaning? He painfully had to acknowledge no.

His name was Sephiroth.

Sephiroth loafed around, absently brushing the dust that settled on his plain tunic, pants, and socks. Brushing aside his fluid silver bangs, he approached the old nightstand and heaved his lean self aboard. It teetered in a mockery of an earthquake but Sephiroth had excellent balance and steadied it. He was always so skilled, so proficient. Physically none his age, or years older for that matter, was the young boy's equal. Same with his magical prowess. He was always so intelligent...so powerful...so different...

_Why? I seem normal to me! Why does everyone act as if I have eight eyes on three heads?_

It was favorite saying of his, 'borrowed' from Professor Gast. Stern though he be, Gast treated Sephiroth with benevolence. The scientist's dark eyes could narrow alarmingly at times, however, he'd never yell at or strike Sephiroth. The same could not be said of Hojo, his once-apprentice-turned-successor. But now Professor Gast was dead.

_It's as if someone is telling me 'you don't deserve a friend or love or kindness'. But I do, don't I? _

Such conflicting and deep thoughts did not seem appropriate for an eight-year-old child. And yet, for Sephiroth, they fit like clothes that are painted on. He was hardly normal, after all.

_No! I AM normal. What's so different about me?_

As the multi-conflicted child came face to face with his reflection from the window, he knew he could never be normal. Silver hair, brilliant as steel and flowing like moonlight on water, framed his face with beautiful straight bangs. Two emerald orbs stared back at him, back into little Sephiroth's soul.

_Who are you, Sephiroth?_

Sephiroth flinched. That was not his own voice!

_Who..._

_...are..._

_...you?_

Suddenly a loud crash shook his chamber. If he'd had any personal items to speak of they would have scattered like frightened shadows. As it was, the young boy of Midgar took a spill. He landed, hard, face down.

The lights vanished.

Blackness engulfed every inch of the sparse chamber. Normally any child–of any age–would be screaming his death cry or cringing underneath the bed. But Sephiroth did not, only straightening himself and wondering exactly what happened. Sighing, the silver-haired boy utilized his hands to serve as eyes, probing the length of the room to the wall with touch. Eventually Sephiroth encountered a wall and he rested there a moment. Then he proceeded for the chamber's steel automatic door.

His long delicate fingers brushed fabric. The bed. They scraped against stone. The opposing wall. Lastly, the ten digits met cold metal. The door handle.

Sephiroth's breath hitched.

The long slender door handle. That was between him and his desperate liberation. Swallowing, the silver-haired child lifted his eyes, bangs dangling, to discover, if, yet again, his escape was blocked.

No red light.

For a fleeting moment Sephiroth wondered if, in his wild desire, that he'd dreamed this newfound freedom up. The Shin-ra Headquarters had automatic lock doors to ensure valuable objects are not removed from their care. A security card was required to navigate the building. The red light indicated that the door lock was operational and that, without such a card, no one could enter–or leave, for that matter.

This revelation meant freedom.

Had Sephiroth been a normal boy he'd have leapt in joy. As it was, he allowed a brief smile, of victory, before the emerald-eyed child yanked on the leveler. Pale golden light cut the still gloom, hardly substantial as it did little to illuminate anything within. No matter, thought Sephiroth, if things went his way he'd never see this 'stinking' room again.

_Wouldn't that be nice? _

Stepping over the threshold gingerly, Sephiroth examined his surroundings. It was a dark corridor, the main power down so the emergency lights activated. At this moment, the Shin-ra Headquarters was defenseless against terrorists or criminal activities. Of course, since the company dealt primarily with electric services, it wouldn't be too long before main power was restored. He didn't plan to be around when the problem was rectified.

Outside, the winter storm raged, howling as the silver-haired boy imagined an insane man might. Or as Hojo might. No, that sick little scientist's laughter was a pathetic sound, brittle and sadistic, not fierce and proud. Snow pelted the walls. Slowly, the child crept to the stairs. They were rarely used, most people preferring the elevator to this mild activity. But with the electricity off, the elevators were inoperative.

_Just as well, _Sephiroth mused as he slid along the wall, _there's no place to run in an elevator. _

Several times the silver-haired child nearly bumped into the Shin-ra guards and the various scientists who prowled the halls. Miraculously, he descended five flights of stairs without detection. On the sixth, though, he 'ran' into disaster.

Dressed in a silly ivory cloak, an elderly professor approached. He started at the jerky changes in the winter wind and in his trembling hands he carried a clipboard. The murky reserve light illuminated wide eyes. "Who's there?" he demanded.

_Damn. He must have heard me. _Sephiroth refused to answer, hiding behind a tall, malnourished plant. Winds screamed insanely. The question was repeated. What should he do? Make a run for it? Silence the man? How? Oh, what to do?!

As he hesitated, the scientist took things in hand, stepping nearer, peering into the blackness. Suddenly, his breath came harsh. Sephiroth had no time to react. A pair of hands yanked him into the relative illumination.

"Sephiroth..." he whispered, half-cursing, half-whimpering.

_What's he afraid of? _Sephiroth thought bitterly. _An eight-year old child?_

As the man appeared to call for the guards, the emerald-eyed child knew he must act or be captured. He would have preferred to avoid violence but there are times when nothing else will do. Sephiroth squirmed free. Then, he snapped an arm like a whip and rammed it into the man's head.

As predicted, the scientist dropped to the floor like a stone. All without so much as a gasp. Had Sephiroth wanted to kill him, the man would be feeding the earthworms...figuratively speaking, of course. There wasn't animal life within the whole of Midgar....

But the little boy was no killer.

_I'm just a freak, not a murderer. _

Shoving that to the recess of his mind, Sephiroth rolled the body under one of the many steel tables in the corridor. No lasting harm. A small head wound. Sephiroth ensured this before proceeding down the hallway. No lasting harm, no. One hell of a headache? Probably.

Eventually, the stairs materialized. He again descended several stories without being discovered. He was so good at that. Stealing in shadows. Where had that come from? Why was he so skilled?

Memories surfaced, memories unbidden. Before he would have easily dispatched the offending 'thing'. Memories, thoughts, emotions...so purposeless, so distracting. He didn't understand any of them but he knew that, on some level, he should. Nor did Sephiroth understand their sudden power over him.

_What do they mean?_

Memories–of those horrible experiments.

Thoughts–of how wrong those experiments are.

Emotions–of how angry he felt toward those experiments.

_Snap out of it! _he cried to himself. Sephiroth knew distraction could be fatal. He schooled his mind into single-minded purpose. And yet, as he crossed another sterile, abandoned corridor to the stairs, it was a struggle.

_Wah! Wah! Wah!_

A baby's cry? Sephiroth stiffened at such an unexpected noise. He forked his hair, strands as moonbeams, with two fingers. Children–in a Shin-ra building? Impossible. But true. What was going on?

Sephiroth's suspicions were confirmed when he stole a peek into one of the many laboratories on this level. There, shaded in white linens, an infant was prodded by a scientist. The man's whip-straight black hair hung over his crooked back. And as the child prodigy might have guessed that scientist was none other than Hojo.

Hojo. The name itself could be substitute for a curse.

"Quit crying, brat! You're almost as bad as Sephiroth!"

_Ha! No one's as bad as me. I live on defying._

It was one of Hojo's private labs, with a security card reader like the rest. At this moment, however, the door remained ajar. This offered a not-so-magnificent look into the wiry man's sick world. Jars of every imaginable odor lined the shelves, files and clipboards scattered amid metal tables. A large pod occupied one corner. Inside, unconscious, was the most attractive woman Sephiroth had ever seen.

Caramel locks trailed her chiseled face. Sorrow traced her prematurely lined face. Her beauty, and suffering, was heartbreaking.

The other side of the room Hojo ungraciously handled the squalling infant. Once. Twice. Three times he struck the baby. Sephiroth eyes flashed. Memories surfaced again with unpleasant force. His childhood was sketchy at best, but beneath was simmering anger toward Hojo. A deadly fury.

_Justice is a dish best served hot. _

Sephiroth easily located what he was looking for. The emergency cord that lead into the chamber to supply it with back-up power ran parallel his path. It was a simple matter to disconnect it. It would not be simple, however, to reestablish.

"Blast it! Damn power!" screeched the vile scientist. He immediately shoved the baby girl into her 'crib'. It was hardly suitable for an infant, all rigging and hard surfaces but that did not matter to Hojo. He then searched for the source of the failure. Sephiroth snickered softly, unaccustomed for him, eyes agleam with satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the young woman had awakened. Drowsily, she glanced around. With all the power, including the auxiliary, down, her pod automatically unlocked. Her haggard yet lovely face lit up with joy. Quickly, she deserted the husk and snatched up the baby. Hojo, seeing the development, screamed hatefully, and attempted to stop her. However, she prevailed, running out of her prison with what could be determined as her daughter.

The sounds of footsteps found his ears. Sephiroth decided now would be a wonderful time for a hasty retreat.

It's amazing how fast you can go when you have to.

Sephiroth pounded down the corridor, silver strands streaming like molten lightning, making his way to the stairs. Hojo might uncover his disappearance and subsequent sabotage and neither would be pleased at the outcome of that. In the backdrop, he could hear the thunder of strides and loud cursing. And the wind continued its murderous symphony.

_Run. Don't think. Don't stop. Run._

The instant the tormented boy reached them he dashed down the steel steps. Hair flailed his face. His breaths came shallow. Sweat beaded his brow. Yet he'd kill himself, if need be, for his freedom; a bit of exhaustion meant nothing.

Eventually he located the first floor. Auxiliary power functioned on this floor as well. The young female receptionist at the desk sat, bored, filing her nails. She seemed either oblivious or disinterested in the apparent power failure and the excitement it entailed. Though busy with the filing she didn't seem extraordinarily absorbed by the task. Meaning Sephiroth didn't stand a chance of slipping past.

His eyes cast about for an alternate escape route. None, of course.

_Like a naked person in a crowd of overly dressed people..._

Another unusual saying. Sephiroth chuckled. It was also Gast's. What happened to the good-natured professor? He'd heard it was a cardiac arrest that claimed the man's life–at least, that's what Shin-ra reported. A heart attack? At age thirty-two?

There was no time to ponder that, however. If the little boy stood a prayer of liberation, he'd best make a run for it now. What if he was spotted? Ah, he'd just have to run even faster...

Sephiroth tipi-toed along the wall, encountering another stairway and navigating several tall plants. The sound from upstairs continued, increasing in volume and obscenities. Occasionally the blond receptionist would glance at the ceiling, rolling her eyes and muttering "Damn scientists! Must they always make such noise?!" She expertly maneuvered the file about her nails, mindless of the creeping shadows.

Everything was fine all the way to the revolving doors. Unfortunately, it refused to budge. Sephiroth glanced anxiously at the young woman who remained blissfully ignorant of the boy's existence. Now what? He couldn't very well ask her to open it!

_Excuse me, miss, I'm trying to escape from big, bad Hojo. Would you mind opening this big, bad door for me?_

Trapped. He was doomed in this madman's web.

"Oh! Do you need help with that?"

A jolt shot up Sephiroth like a bullet. His head snapped around to see the receptionist standing aside him, smiling in a most friendly manner.

The green-eyed boy said nothing for exactly twenty seconds. Finally he sputtered, "Uh, yes...Please?"

"Be careful, it's windy out there!" she warned after opening the door with a security card. Sephiroth whispered his appreciation for both the absurd advice and his newfound freedom.

Whey they said it was a cold, cruel world out there, they weren't kidding! Wind and freezing snow slapped at his young flesh, plastering his silver bangs to his face. It whirled before Sephiroth, making him dizzy and playing tricks with his vision. He stumbled through the wintry mess, barely able to see his own hand let alone his way.

His way..._what _way? Now that he had his freedom, what would he do with it? Where was going to go? He had no family, no friends. Sephiroth realized in dull horror that, run as he might, he would always be alone and imprisoned.

Suddenly an insubstantial image of that beautiful woman carrying her infant blurred past. Her long brown hair floated in the murderous wind. She turned ever so slowly to gaze at the young lost boy. Their eyes mirrored one another–a shared torment, a shared determination. Then she vanished, melting into the wintry night as all angels do.

There was something undeniably wise and loving of the woman. But there was a coldness as well, as powerful as a glacier. Her exotic beauty was certainly not of this world. Alien. The flash of a white globe burned in his memory.

Materia?

_Was I looking into my glorious destiny? Or my inglorious fate?_

At that moment, Sephiroth's vision cleared. And he received a most horrifying start when he realized where he was.

At the Shin-ra Headquarters. He'd gone full circle.

And walked straight into the arms of Hojo.

Their eyes met and Sephiroth knew it was fate.

"_Fate indeed," Vincent noted with a novel display of sadness. Luke had shown him the first couple of diary entries by a young Sephiroth. "Each step was set before him before Sephiroth could walk. His life was not the happiest. He fought so hard but fate is rarely kind. I saw that in his eyes–webbed in a destructive pattern. And it all started so early..."_

"_Such pain, such torment. Very destructive, yes," answered the reporter. _

"_And the beginnings of the fires of violence..."_

"_Yes," came Luke agreement. "Striking down that elderly man."_

_Vincent nodded, night-black hair dangling. "But he also exhibited promise to be a decent-hearted man. Let's not forget his helping young Aeris and Ifalna_."

"_Did he do that out of compassion to them or hatred of Hojo?"_

_To that, the former-Turk was silent. His bloody eyes scanning over the scribbled text, he could not be certain either way. The earlier pages were barely decipherable but as the child quickly caught onto calligraphy his writing improved into a flowing verse with proportionate lettering. But no matter how well-written it offered him no clue. Sometimes written words are not enough; sometimes the tone is the only way to determine sincerity or cruelty. _

"_I guess, we'll never know."_


	5. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Blade of the Ancients**

Winds fluttered about the half a dozen tents in Bone Village. Normally the small division of the Northern Continents enjoyed tranquil times with few visitors. But these were _troubled _times–villagers vanishing into the Sleeping Forest. Some returned; many did not. Those who did claimed hideous monsters, leaking mako, had digested friends and family. The relatives of the missing now congregated around the small contingent of Shin-ra SOLDIERs assigned to investigate these strange disappearances. It was a paltry offering, the President of Shin-ra Incorp. opting to dispatch the bulk of his task force into occupying North Corel. Still, the conglomerate had to make a token gesture, and here it was, in the form of these inexperienced, third class SOLDIERs.

_All sixteen of us. Political maneuvering, indeed, _thought one of their number. As ever, the cool cynical Sephiroth. The twisted lips did not diminish his otherworldly beauty. He was a most magnificently handsome creature. A shimmering cascade of polished silver streamed his person to beyond his trim waist. It fell neatly, fluidly, and with characteristic grace. Like-color bangs hovered the statuette visage like steel daggers. His complexion, while flesh as any normal being, was of a marble texture, vaguely feminine with its delicately chipped nose, chin, high cheeks, and thin lips. Hard muscle filled out his extensive, near-perfect body. Both shoulders were broad and the neck was veined like a stem of a pillar.

Like all members of this elite task force, his exotic emerald eyes gleamed to the input of mako in his veins. The two slightly slanted aquamarine eyes were set well into the face, ranging in shades according to his various moods. They could be a thoughtful soft green to an icy enraged blue. But they shone dully now, a disinterested green, because Sephiroth, third-class company trooper, found little to interest him.

General Bhale, Leader of this company of SOLDIERs, was a portly forty-three year old man with a flourishing beard and a stern disposition. He briefly barked out a peach-and-daisy articulation to Bone Village's inhabitants. This consisted of 'decimating monsters' and 'rescuing innocents'. Sephiroth knew better. There would be little retribution and certainly no salvation. It was a manipulative appeasement so that the villagers would cease protests and return to the digging expedition.

Dust columned the contingent, forcing several present to blink, cough, or sneeze. Sephiroth remained perfectly erect. He was the top of his class, top of the next couple of classes to be precise. While others suffered visibly from the discomfort the silver-haired man could be made of stone. Some admired such fortitude–but most despised his endurance, beauty, and charm, and, thus, making friends was difficult.

_I have no friends. I might lie to the public but there's no reason to lie to myself. _Still, even that small confession, however internally kept, unnerved him. He knew people were sociable creatures and his inability to do the same marked him as abnormal. There existed no connection between himself and his sire or matriarch–he'd been told cruelly by Hojo that his mother had died at his childbirth and his father deserted him at the crib. This failure to nourish such an important outlet in his life carried onto all his other relations. So, try as he might, friendships shunned Sephiroth.

Then came Lanine's silly smile. Every so often she'd glance at him and curl her lips which Sephiroth took to be an insult. Women did that frequently but as to the why eluded the silver-haired man. Love, such foolishness. The crack in the armor of an otherwise sturdy warrior. It left him vulnerable and prone to attack.

Sephiroth was glad he could not love.

Completing his overly flowery speech, the General turned his navy gaze on his troops. He, too, appeared bored though Bhale demanded absolute attention from his subordinates. Every last one of them stood dead on their feet. Even Sephiroth, whose physical prowess could be a prodigy, had stiff muscles and little sleep. Storms besieged the Northern Continents for weeks now. The boat ride from Junon Harbor had not been pleasant.

None dared exhibit more than the minimal of soreness, though, as the General addressed them. "We'll divide into four teams of four each. You know the routine and, of course, your teams. I'll head Gamma squadron this time. Inside each of your backpacks is a medallion. Use it to safely navigate the Sleeping Forest. Never remove it–that's an order. A new team leader will be selected for this...mission. I'll expect an oral report when we reconvene in twenty-four hours..."

_Beautiful. Just beautiful. Another boy-scout campout. _The SOLDIER frowned. His blood boiled for real adventure, real battle. Only first-class' encountered that, however. As he scanned his comrades, that frown deepened. Most of them seemed content with the non-threatening mediocre. And who could blame them? Despite the rigors of second and first classes, third's SOLDIERs had it relatively easy. Paid rent, nourishment, moving expenses, entertainment expenses, extra gil. What more could anyone want?

Glory. Fame. Respect. This Sephiroth longed for and these were the reasons he could blame them for. They are as animals–feed them, pet them, protect them and none would object with their utter lack of ambition. For the quiet green-eyed boy of Midgar that would never do.

_Estuans interius ira vehementi..._

Where had that come from?

The voices...that's where.

Sephiroth stilled them, schooling his mind into gray mode. The gray mode meaning–assimilating information while revealing none in return. His eyes saw the world but the world did not see him. His smile was like a dagger–cold and sharp and deadly. Just like himself. Considered beautiful by some of the female population he rarely indulged in vanity. Thus his attire is an austere ensemble.

Still, plain though it be, the clothing favored him. A SOLDIER outfit of black covered his form out at the chest with crisscrosses of brown leather, with a silver emblem sewn over his stomach. Because his shoulders were so broad, two white leather pads were stitched on for additional protection, connecting with his extensive midnight cloak which can be belted at the middle. The trousers are black, as well, nondescript and fall to meet his tall, also ebony boots which almost reach his knees. Twin straps of leather surround the upper and lower knee, perhaps for support.

Rare is it that Sephiroth let himself be seen without his customary black gloves. Why? Sephiroth himself was uncertain. But he imagined the reasons range from his detesting to touch blood despite a scientific background (or maybe because of the scientific background) to the exotic number one tattooed to his left hand.

He should be leader. But political intrigue would prevent such an occurrence, he did not doubt. Though the most skilled man alive he might be (and probably was) his lack of popularity would wreck any possibilities. Being selected team leader had little to do with who was best for the position and more to do with the person who commanded the most respect. Never to be leader. People must like their leader. People did not like Sephiroth.

So it was with no little astonishment that the eighteen-year old man felt when the Delta team leader papers were slapped into _his_ hands. Briefly shocked, he recovered and peered curiously at General Bhale. A mistake, perhaps...

No mistake. "You'll do a fine job," he said uninspiringly.

Deciding not to question authority nor fortune, Sephiroth nodded respectfully as his commanding officer passed him to assign other leaders. He could already see the black looks his teammates were shooting him. A sigh. This would not be easy. First overjoyed by the opportunity so long denied him, coursing as mako in his veins, now the happiness bled from him. Harsh reality set in. It was not that he felt unequal to the task but the thought of commanding his peers, peers who detested him, made Sephiroth wonder if this was not fortune after all...

Monsters he could handle; people he could not.

Rich golds, oranges and crimsons highlighted his marble face, eerie in his green eyes. The campfire provided heat and light but Sephiroth ordered it kept low. Lured monsters, he explained to his three teammates when they complained. Neither had openly objected yet to his unprecedented position. Still he witnessed it in their exchanged looks, their sneers as they responded to his dominance.

For several hours now the quartet had searched Sleeping forest for indications of wandering monsters. A rather uneventful inspection, seeing as the only inhabitants they noted was a rabbit or two but they didn't relax their guard. Still, it was a beautiful woodland. Trees of thin veins for branches or massive sturdy trunks encircled them. The canopy of leaves shattered any light streaming from above into myriad shapes. As instructed none of the four removed their magical medallions.

The black-cloaked man squinted at the various papers. Maps, instructions, papers detailing monster's habits. _Homework_, thought Sephiroth with rare humor. They'd already discovered a network of caves he wanted to explore in the morning. Still, time was limited. They would have to report back to the General. Maybe Sephiroth could convince him to investigate the caves. Maybe, maybe not.

Sitting back against a log, stretching out aching legs, the prodigy of Midgar swept his gaze over his subordinates. Lanine, her shoulder-length brown hair fluttering, offered him another vexing smile. She was a good head and shoulders shorter than him but Sephiroth could not deny her proficiency with a knife. Sitting next to her was Michael. At this moment he digested a leg of lamb while laughingly telling some dirty joke to Terence, the last of Sephiroth's warriors. Terence was a cool man, given to ruthlessness and made no secret of his distaste that Sephiroth commanded him.

_And these are my soldiers? _Not for the first time did the silver-haired man wonder. Still, one plays with the cards they are given, not the deck itself, and Sephiroth was determined to make the best of it.

He cleared his throat. "We will sleep here tonight with each of us taking a watch for about two hours. I'll be first watch. You, Lanine, be second. Micheal third and Terence you can finish with the predawn. We'll scout around the northern mountains and return to Bone Village to present a report." Failing to mention his discovery of the caves seemed pertinent. His subordinates should see their leader's dictates not his desires. "We'll keep on alert for the inhabitants. They are not friendly."

"Don't say," muttered Terence.

"I think he did say," Micheal jested.

"Listen up guys," came Lanine's soft-spoken rebuke, "Sephiroth is speaking."

_Children. I'm dealing with children._ "If you see any monsters, fire them with your strongest spells. No hesitation." Finishing the conversation, or thinking so, he climbed to his feet and shook the leaves out his midnight cloak. With irritation he noted that Terence watched him with a glare.

"General Bhale told us to conserve the materia. No unnecessary waste. I guess you won't be casting any kick-ass fire spells, huh?"

In his mind Sephiroth saw the insolent man impaled a hundred times on his sword. He hated his peers as much as they hated him. But he would be six feet under before they walked all over him. "I am team leader. I make the rules." He gestured to the papers that the General supplied him.

Acting swiftly before Sephiroth knew what he was doing, Terence snatched the papers out of his hands. His face burned as the campfire itself. Attempting to retrieve the documents proved pointless as his subordinate dodged. Once, twice, three times he sought to yank it away but Terence had enough presence of mind to evade his hated superior.

"Not leader anymore, eh?"

Whipping out his sword, Sephiroth was sorely tempted to run Terence through. His head pounded with burning violence. All the humiliation, degradation, isolation threatened to burst at that moment. Had the blacker side of Sephiroth prevailed the annoying young man would be choking on his own blood.

_Estuans interius ira vehementi..._

But the violence found its way barred. Sephiroth placed a hand over his heart and stilled the thundering. How had the anger festered to the point of erupting as murder? So close, so close he came to losing his sanity. Too close for comfort. Instead, he settled for smashing the hilt against Terence's forehead, effectively rendering him unconscious. His gaze cold as he reclaimed the manuscript, Sephiroth retired to his tent, declaring over his shoulder, "As you can guess, I will not tolerate insubordination. You are forewarned."

Lanine stared after him, mouth unhinged with shock and admiration. Michael laughed at the display. Eventually their last member awoke but not before their leader had barricaded his tent from them. Terence scowled but did not retaliate. They assumed he would not be taking first watch after all.

They were wrong. He took first, second, third, last and then some more. Sephiroth lay on his blankets all night, emerald eyes shading into a sharp icy blue. Something terrible had come over him today. It felt so right it could not be wrong. He sighed, chest heavy, feeling like the burning campfire outside. Here, surrounded by his little legion, Sephiroth felt more alone than he did while truly alone.

Late afternoon sun filtered through the massive leaves in the Sleeping Forest as Sephiroth's team returned to Bone Village. The four squadrons, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta rejoined as a single unit. A dull gray mist lingered around, slitting here and there by fresh sunlight. The mist appeared as ghosts of another realm. Some suspected that it was a side effect of the mysterious Sleeping Forest.

General Bhale reassured the villagers that the search was yet ongoing. No one had found anything particularly remarkable and so, in light of this, Sephiroth felt encouraged to present his own little discovery. And, after careful deliberation, Bhale accepted it. 'Better than chasing squirrels' he said. If they could salvage a single body for the inhabitants the protests would likely cease. Shin-ra would be satisfied that the money-earning expeditions had resumed and the third class SOLDIER would receive raises. Not what Sephiroth was looking for but even praise could later lead to promotions.

_Hopefully. I can't stand being a second-rate warrior any more. _

Assembling his troops, the General listened to each verbal essay. Sephiroth articulated his brief report in a research-paper-like manner, omitting the incident between himself and Terence altogether. The other team leaders had little else to add. No one had seen a monster in the whole of Sleeping Forest. Bhale concluded that the villagers had merely gotten eaten by some wayward bear. Still, any evidence would suffice so, once the reports finished, they all headed off for the caverns.

Fortunately, the march did not tire nor result in injuries. The green-eyed native of Midgar actually found himself enjoying the walk. No one bothered him, rumor circulating that he'd put Terence into his place. He fervently hoped that the knowledge would prevent any other approaches by his peers, male and female alike. Earlier in the morning, Lanine had attempted to stroke his hair, saying it was a wonderful color. Sephiroth explained coldly that it was the result of mako gone awry and passed by her. Now she ignored him.

_Good. Women are annoying. Why do they dither with romance? _

The sixteen SOLDIERs and their General encountered the network of caves. Most did not seem impressed. Half loafed off, professing to 'stand guard' or 'investigate the surrounding areas'. That suited Sephiroth just fine. He wanted no one to steal his glory should the caves prove valuable.

Thus, when Bhale asked for volunteers there was but one.

"Sir, I volunteer," Sephiroth stated clearly. Seeing his superior about to conscript additional SOLDIERs he lifted a hand as respectfully as possible and added, "It'll only take ten minutes. I can go alone."

Some of his malice-spirited peers snickered at this. Terence looked especially interested. However, the General acquiesced. Sephiroth, a tint gracing his pale cheeks like crushed rose petals on marble, unsheathed his army-assigned sword and entered.

Utter darkness. Extending a hand he summoned a sphere of flame as verdant as his eyes to produce light. It guided his path though more than once Sephiroth used his hand to serve as additional help to steady himself. Where had that habit come from? In the annuals of history, time's flowing river, a memory of his past returned. Midgar. Darkness. Fear.

He shook his head, liquid silver fanning out in a brilliant waterfall. It did not matter. Dismissing such irrelevant questions, the prodigy SOLDIER progressed further into the caves. It divided into several supplementary routes but he remained on the center one. To branch off might end up getting him lost. Doing that would provoke more laughter of his peers. Gods, could Sephiroth control himself if that happened? He didn't know. Didn't want to know.

In amazement, Sephiroth realized the various rock formations were, in actually, mako glazed stone. His corridor ran the length of a large hallway that ended in an antechamber. Behind loomed the entrance, some distance back, like an evil white eye with shadows of his fellow SOLDIERs fluttering within.

A gasp came from him. Before him stood a panoramic view of towering walls of mako-stained stone seeming to worship a fantastic statue best. The statue of muscles, fangs, and six–no, eight–stout legs. In its fierce stone eyes reflected a mako pool of sheer radiance. Below, that obsidian pool filled with steaming emerald mako. The glittering waters contained a stunning katana blade.

To see the beauty, Sephiroth experienced a sense of fulfillment, of belonging. He longed to touch the slender blade. He pushed silver hair out of his eyes, not relinquishing his gaze. As a result of time duration his light vanished, but, by now, the mako pool provided the necessary illumination. As drawn like a stream to the ocean, he knelt by the pool. Mako shined in his own eyes. Eagerness, too.

_Where did this wondrous weapon come from? From human ancestors? The Ancients? Aliens?_ He ceased to care. It was a gift. Who it came from, Sephiroth decided not to question. To do so seemed sacrilegious somehow. To do anything but accept this gracious gift from the heavens was an offense. Stretching out an ebony-gloved hand, as if to reach godhood itself, he flinched. Flinched for the pain sure to besiege him.

Materia in its raw form is mako. A greenish substance, highly flammable in this state, it burns as acid. Thus it is often harvested with sturdy mechanical machines. But death itself could not disillusion the Midgar prodigy once his mind was set. And it _did_ assault the SOLDIER but his fortitude remained intact. Searing to his flesh, scalding fissures into his glove, still he delved into the murderous liquid. Sweat streaked his temple. Such intense pain.

At last, Sephiroth's fingers felt the hilt. A single gem decorated the pommel, its simplicity more beautiful than all the jewels in the Shin-ra mansion at Nibelhiem. A dragonscale hilt with a deadly six-foot diamond blade. His hand closed about the sword and, with an internal fanfare, Sephiroth withdrew it from the greenish depths.

_It's beautiful! So beautiful! _Sephiroth's face contorted in joy for this more than any other event. That included birthdays, holidays, special occasions. War was his love. His only love.

Dragonscale, indeed. A hard substance coated the pommel, with a black ribbon fluttering about the contact between blade and hilt. Mako veined the diamond blade. It afforded the weapon a slight emerald shine that suited Sephiroth's eyes. As if a blacksmith had calculated his weight, height and balance, the blade felt immaculate in his hand. He read the the inscription on the weapon. Though a language he'd never encountered before, it was perfectly decipherable like his mother tongue.

_Eskallanilna. Ils eluys eldab cetra. Ils eluys Seraph karlma._

_Masemune. Blade of the Ancients. Ruler of the heavens._

Holding Masemune aloft, Sephiroth knew he would never be alone again.

Suddenly a terrific crunching alerted the SOLDIER's ears that he was no longer alone. So far from the entrance, Sephiroth could not see his companions. Rising from beside the pool, mako dripping from his new-found weapon, he cast the old sword aside. The noise intensified and it was with immense horror that he realized the source of the sound.

The statue beast. Guardian of Masemune.

As if the abyss of the Planet vented, a forbidding roar emanated from this beast. Its stone outer-coating cracked and finally burst, as a gargoyle at night, eyes shining in mako and fury. Easily dwarfing the tall Sephiroth, the sheer size extended to the ceiling. All eight legs stretched in a centuries-long overdue exercise and the menacing gaze fell upon Sephiroth. For all the flawlessness and skill the native of Midgar projected, his heart fluttered fearfully.

Again, Sephiroth decoded the eccentric language as spoken by the Guardian. His voice came as deep as the entrails of time itself. Red eyes squinted thoughtfully. "Sephiroth...creation...destruction...have you come for the Blade of the Ancients?"

Sephiroth didn't know how to reply and so remained silent.

"Masemune..." Guardian bellowed. "You...are not of this world...who are you, mortal?" Before the SOLDIER could answer that (though he hadn't the faintest idea about how to respond), the beast continued. "I touch your mind yet I can find nothing. No emotion. No thoughts. Are you the one foretold?...I cannot permit you to take Masemune without knowing your worth. Come, he of the mako eyes. Come prove yourself."

Without further warning, the beast sprang forward, making a splash in the mako pool. Four legs swiped Sephiroth into the far wall, resulting in several cracked ribs. Instinct snapped in his mind. He dodged another attack that might have broken more than just ribs. Drawing breath was like sucking down a sword. Torture. But he could not simply sit and nurse his wounds and so the deadly dance called battle began.

Forcing air down parched lungs, he sidestepped another pass of quartet appendages. Voices filled his brain, alien and commanding. Cleaved in two–one voice sibilant and cool; another warm and encouraging. They clashed as he swung Masemune in a brilliant arch. Deflected by the front legs. Guardian managed to nick his mortal opponent in the hip, and Sephiroth left a crimson footprint with each step.

More on the defensive than aggressive now, it horrified the Midgar prodigy to realize that none of his peers came to his rescue. Briefly confused, hearing Guardian's fierce cry, he then bitterly knew why. As acidic as the mako, the awareness burned him. _I'm just a third-class SOLDIER. Unwanted. Hated. Expendable. I will live or die by my blade. Ah, Eskallanilna, be true this day._

Masemune hummed beneath his fingers, wordless encouragement. He came in suddenly, surprising the beast with a well-administered slash to its shoulder. Any ordinary weapon would have been as pinpricks. But Masemune was beyond ordinary and it inflicted a serious wound. The beast retaliated with a paw drilling into the rock flooring–a move that would have impaled and crushed Sephiroth all in the same instant.

But he was not there. His cape fluttering behind, whipping as he weaved, hopped, and ducked each fatal blow. Nor was the battle mostly one-sided. Returning to the offensive since his lucky shot, several times Sephiroth scored successive hits along the flank. Green blood, maybe mako, spilled onto the rocks. Sephiroth crouched, observing his adversary as it retreated behind the glittering pool. The eyes grazed his soul.

Again that conflicting feeling, as if belonging to something and nothing at all simultaneously. Guardian tasted the pale soul living within his cold shell. It was a mental victory, one that Sephiroth detested greatly. Wound his body as you will, but he could never stand someone peeling his carefully built walls and attacking within.

Yet Guardian did just that. "You are of her blood...yet something breathes them in you...You are as cold as a glacier yet I feel fire beneath, enough to make a mockery of hell...How can such a being of contradiction exist?"

Before the beast could probe too far, Sephiroth banished the invasion. He sealed up the emotion, memories, and thoughts once again. Why the beast would have such an interest in his personal affairs perplexed him, but the young man hated that side of himself. Sephiroth never understood feelings. It was a weakness; one he loathed to acknowledge.

Startled only for mere moments, he regained control within seconds. But seconds itself was too long. Scorching emerald mako belched from the fanged mouth. Reacting quickly, Sephiroth's only shield was a sword and he used it protect his head. Masemune mercifully diverted nearly all of the killing liquid. Still, some of the fluid found its way to his body. He screamed sharply, once, then rolled away before additional damage could be inflicted.

Back on the defensive, Sephiroth ducked almost exclusively. Regaining his strength was vital. The burns festered as acid in the holes in his attire, excruciating. For a few more minutes, the green-eyed young man parried and evaded. He did not wait for the energy to fully accumulate. Once opportunity lent itself he struck.

Masemune blazed as it entered the mako liquid. Green waters shaped into a wave and with the force of the momentum caused by the sword, exploded over Guardian's face. His shriek shattered the eardrums. Rocks plunged from the ceiling and dust rained with many particles. These fell into his brilliant hair and along the midnight cloak.

Enraged the beast seemed about to continue the struggle but its instinctive mind urged him to flee. Charging past its threat, the mere mortal, Guardian disappeared outside. Instantly screams split the air. Shots rang out. General Bhale's voice rose above the wild din. It was so horrible Sephiroth shook involuntarily.

Then he froze. _That beast will cut my peers to ribbons! _As much as Sephiroth despised those in his class, he willed no one to die. He was no killer, this Sephiroth. He would protect his fellow company SOLDIERs.

When Sephiroth arrived at the entrance, the sight prompted nausea. Four SOLDIERs lay as broken toys, gutted alive. A fifth moaned, face chalk white, as his heart's blood poured from a chest wound. And mere feet from the native of Midgar was the General, torn to shreds. Grim indeed.

Guardian's ears pricked as he noted Sephiroth's approach. Seeing him as the deadliest adversary it slammed a row of its feet on Sephiroth. Evading all but the last blow, all the SOLDIERs expected to see his arm pulverized as it vanished beneath a claw. But all that tore was the glove, revealing the mysterious number one tattoo, marking him as he is–forever on glory's mountain and its cold isolation.

Sephiroth lifted Masamune dramatically and gasped, "Strike as a collective will! Each to his own team! Press it to the cave!!"

His unworldly voice cut through the paralyzed SOLDIERs. As if they knew naught words but those from Sephiroth's lips, Delta, Alpha, Gamma, and Beta joined as a cohesive unit. They circled the beast, harassing it at all sides. Those more apt with materia showered Guardian with an array of magical attacks. Sephiroth directed the assault, leader for the violence that unfolded itself.

Ice chunks pelted Guardian's forehead squarely. More screams. The earth opened its maw and snapped at his sensitive paws. But the lightning, unleashed by a hysterical Beta member, arched a blue energy bolt and struck the cavern's archway. Guardian lashed out as rocks dropped onto his head. He hacked a pair of SOLDIERs into a bloody mass as they stood too close to each other.

An idea birthed in the mind of Sephiroth. _If we could somehow trap the beast back into its lair, a range of well-placed shots at the ceiling should collapse onto Guardian. Thus, disabling it. _His heart thundered, as if in love with the battle. The only love that rushed in his veins.

"Gamma, to the right! Delta away from its rear and advance toward to me! Beta guard their progress! Alpha continue attacking its left!" His commands filed each team, organizing them into a cumulative division.

Each looked to Sephiroth for direction, even the surly Terence. His statue, with the flowing silver hair like a dozen steel blades and billowing black cape like the wings of a nether-land angel, captivated them and brainwashed them into following his every order. Masemune was a light they extracted their strength from as it drew mako-blood from Guardian. Even as several more fell, the remnant headed his determined, blazing emerald-azure eyes.

The grace Sephiroth executed each of his katas, the speed in which he released the deadly spells that even First-class' didn't know, and the brilliance of his mind saved them on more than one occasion. Slowly but inexorably they lured Guardian to its doom. Wielding Masemune, he yelled for his peers to strike as one. Surrounded, its only escape leading to the lair, Guardian fell precisely into his trap. Sephiroth then shouted for the guns and magic.

Ammunition discharged with the magical bolts and spheres to collapse the ceiling. Like a perfectly-performed play, boulders crashed onto the beast and it shrieked a dozen times, attempting to liberate itself. It was not yet dead and Sephiroth knew it would exact revenge on its killers. Approaching while all others backed off, he lifted Masemune.

"You are her legacy..."

_Estuans interius ira vehementi..._

Sephiroth halted, his breathed hitched.

"Terror from the skies..."

_Et imanis sors immanis..._

"Masemune...is innocent–do not taint it!!"

_Eskallanilna._

A gasp and Sephiroth's face paled as if, when Masemune descended to rend into Guardian's skull, that it was his own death it heralded. Mako-blood splattered onto his apparel yet it was long moments before he could move. Staggering to a knee, Masemune kept him aloft. He blinked, trembling violently. Finally, Sephiroth peered about the carnage that was the SOLDIERs. More than a quarter had perished while two would be maimed for life. But that any of them survived was a miracle itself. Had Guardian prevailed none would be alive to speak of this terror.

"Totally unbelievable power!" exclaimed Michael, who danced with glee.

Lanine kissed Sephiroth's bloody hair and for once he did not resist. Not that the green-eyed SOLDIER warmed to her touch but that the shock of the event had not permitted his complaints. She whispered, "My hero..."

Those SOLDIERs who could yet speak offered their appreciation. Some set to tending the wounded. Sephiroth brushed his wet bangs out of his eyes. Masemune rested comfortably in his hand. Do not taint it? Had Sephiroth tainted it? Not a mar of blood remained on the impeccable length of steel. Veins of green mako vibrated in a rhythm paralleling his heartbeat. His vision flashed and again he stumbled, weakened by the ordeal.

But this time many pairs of hands guided him to the gravel ground. Their faces fluttered in his half-closed eyes. Voices floated above his head. Micheal's. Lanine's. Roderick's. Dale's. Kathleen's. So many voices. The SOLDIERs of each division came to his aid–even Terence. And their words...so foreign...what did they mean?

Praise. Praising him...

"SOLDIERs...I think we have ourselves a new General."

To that, Sephiroth could feel Masemune hum happily.

And General Sephiroth was pleased.

"_General Sephiroth, Wielder of the destructive force known as Masemune, a legend in the flesh," Luke stated, awed. _

_Over the course of the day, he and Vincent pored over Shin-ra's secret files and Sephiroth's private military journals. Naturally, the story varied depending on the viewpoint. The massive conglomerate reinterpreted the late General Bhale's position so it looked that he made a better stand, rather than falling in the first round of battle—to cover their asses of hiring unworthy leaders. At first, they completely downplayed Sephiroth's success. But the evidence supported the third-class SOLDIERs rendition of the encounter with Guardian. They wholly championed Sephiroth's brilliant plan and chivalric stand. The controversy had an unexpected affect on the public–they hailed Sephiroth as a hero, who saved his peers from slaughter where his predecessor failed. They insisted Shin-ra promote him to General._

"_Shin-ra used the people's love of Sephiroth to their advantage," Vincent added coldly. "They changed their tone like a snake sheds its skin. Claiming a 'miscalculation' by researchers at Bone Villagers, Shin-ra concluded that Sephiroth deserved to be General of their armies. He was the most decorated man in history. Whenever people complained they sent Sephiroth."_

"_With such a change in pace, from near obscurity to reverence, makes you wonder what affect it had on him," Luke probed not-so-subtly. Vincent, however, never caught hints well and merely murmured yes. Exasperated, the researcher nudged, "How did he feel, you suppose?"_

_No immediate response. The writings of Sephiroth were frustratingly cryptic. Having no one to show him feelings, the exalted SOLDIER could not produce emotion. Thus, his text was stiff and formal. It held no testament to the tortured soul trapped inside._

"_I have often wondered..." he whispered. "But such superficial and fickle popularity did not seem like something Sephiroth would appreciate. I would dare to say it prompted him to withdraw, ultimately contributing to his insanity."_

"_How so?" asked Luke, mesmerized._

"_If someone is not whole before celebrity then such esteem makes the person only more empty inside. To be so falsely loved by others and not love oneself is the greatest loneliness of all."_


	6. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**The Meaningless War**

The brilliantly colored marker left a fine crimson line, accompanied by an annoying scratch-squeak. It indicated his line of march. The General of SOLDIER and Shin-ra's head military man frowned. Too many 2nd's had been delegated back to the slum uprising in Midgar. That irritated him. The prize of lush, wealthy Wutai far exceeded any suppression of the hardy lot from the lower reaches of the plates.

_Foolishness. Utter foolishness. A damn inefficient way to run a war._

With an azure ink pen he circled Wutai's Upper Peninsula, near the capital of the corresponding name, and scribbled '5000 2nd's' in. Soon, that many class SOLDIERs would be reallocated to the Northern Assault. The original design involved a three-prong attack with the levels of 1st's, 2nd's, and 3rd's reconvening in the center capital. Progress for that had thus far stalled. Shin-ra kept frustrating his efforts by reassigning troops to Junon and Midgar. 'Unnecessary waste of resources' they said.

_Unnecessary indeed. They know nothing of the art of war, or of its infinite strategies or battle conservation. If we came in all blades bared this would be over in a matter of weeks...not months...certainly not years..._

The sheer idiocy infuriated him. Because of the mix-ups, red tape, and routine powers-that-be stupidity the entire Mission Wutai had delayed far longer than expected. How many years had the General devoted his time, energies, and very life to this project, deemed pointless by many? He found he could not recall.

General Sephiroth could not be considered pleased. Hardly, that.

Brushing aside a long bang, as silver as moonlight, he heaved a sigh and reclined in the steel chair. Without preamble, the wooden table that suspended his colorfully painted map lurched with the movement of the boat Sephiroth occupied. This inevitably sent the three bottles of green, blue, and red ink into a trio of directions. Shin-ra had arranged for a Junon ship to ferry him to the continent of Wutai and had housed a splendid cabin for the much-decorated war veteran. Unfortunately, the seas surrounding the lower landmasses were wild at best and brutal at worst. It would force them to land at the southern perimeter and make for Wutai in a walking march.

_Strange. How I think all this in such short time as the fall of a vial._

Graceful as oceanic waves, the first two survived by the skillful plucking of Sephiroth, who immediately set them aside to tend their companion bottle. The third, unfortunately, seemed set for shattered doom. Masemune's wielder had fully expected to see a patch as scarlet as fresh blood pooling the cabin floor.

Instead the General was mildly relieved to witness it salvaged by a swift hand. His aquamarine eyes lifted to observe his second-in-command, the unyielding Terence, standing before him. A brief smile came to the subcommander's lips as he settled the bottle down.

After the incident at the Sleeping Forest, the two had advanced together in the ranks of SOLDIER. Shin-ra seemed impressed by both young men, promoting Sephiroth to head of the armies with Terence as his trusted right-hand man. At first, this disturbed the silver-haired warrior who didn't dismiss the old feuds of yester year. Gradually, though, he accepted Terence, if, not as a friend, as a worthy ally.

Friendships. Sephiroth was still a novice in that class. _Not a significant skill in war, so why would I need it anyway?_

Gesturing to the array of dyed bottles, the bronze-haired subordinate commented blandly, "Never knew you to be fond of the primary colors, Sephiroth."

"I don't," he stated coldly. Terence rarely indulged in humor, a blessed relief, and Sephiroth was not about to condone it now. His moonlight-colored eyebrow lowered in disfavor. "Take a look at this."

As the subcommander leaned forward his superior emotionlessly continued, "Shin-ra is constantly removing my infantry and sending them to Junon, Midgar, North Corel, and half a dozen other places...all in a matter of days! What's with that?"

Examining the map and its extremely detailed illustrations, Terence made analytical throaty sounds. As for his opinion, that could not be determined. Sephiroth checked his impatience. One of the most valuable virtues he learned was patience. Not that the prodigy of Midgar had much of _that_ to mention.

_Not natural...never been natural..._

The General snorted derisively as Terence failed to respond. "I've resorted to hunting down available battalions to continue the siege of Wutai. How am I suppose to win a war if Shin-ra keeps frustrating my efforts?"

Terence traced a finger down the map, following his superior's supply lines. He muttered, absentminded, "I'll look into it, Sir."

"That you will," came the General's sharp reply.

A frown creased Terence's forehead. In his younger years, the Junon-born SOLDIER had presented an infinite number of behavioral difficulties. Still, they appeared to fade in his military service. Years had smoothed the friction between subcommander and superior. This did not disillusion any thoughts of self-preservation, however. Sephiroth trusted no one. His dim hope was that, with his acquisition of the legendary Masemune and his ascension to General, the need to cast an eye over his shoulder would have perished. _No. Never for a man such as myself..._

Tapping a finger over his pale lips, came another sigh. With a hand-flip and the esteemed leader of SOLDIER dismissed Terence. The man left respectfully, as custom, nary a word. Sephiroth craved isolation at the moment. Though he hated the silence, far better the voices crying in his discordant, dark soul than the dreadful looks of amalgamated loathing and hero-worship.

_My child...hear my cries..._

He flinched.

_Estuans interius...Ira vehementi..._

_A voice...One voice...A thousand voices...Too many voices!_

Sephiroth's vision flashed briefly and his breath refused to acknowledge his lungs. With a supreme effort, the young war veteran submerged the eerie sound. Hardly the first time he'd heard the voices but this time differed. This time, they spoke as a mother to a lost son...But such was not possible, for he had no mother, no kin to speak of. It chilled him to the marrow of his soul.

Voices. They'd been with him since first a green-eyed child fathomed words. All his Midgarian caretakers used to laugh off his concerns, saying it was little more than 'an imaginary friend' or he had an acidic lying tongue to procure 'unmerited' attention. A few of the more superstitious whispered ' a child unbalanced, a child demon-possessed'. None thought to quell his fears.

And so the voices persisted. Reminiscent of a youth who fears the darkness yet is not informed how harmless the shadows are, Sephiroth shuddered as the noises entered his mind. The Junon steel ship pitched again and the General didn't bother to rescue the colored bottles this time. Each smashed into shards as he rolled up the map and stowed it away within the nocturnal folds of his cloak. Masemune easily pulled from the sheath, gleaming mako-hued, as impeccable as the day the General lay claim to her.

_Eskallanilna._..

"_You are her legacy..."_

"_Terror from the skies..."_

"_Masemune...is innocent–do not taint it!!"_

"No!" he shouted harshly. "Out! Out! Out of my head!" No, nothing remotely even human, he knew. But Sephiroth would like to think that he was not so utterly removed from society that voices would haunt his daydreams!

Decisively, the ebony-caped man departed the lavish guest quarters. He hated the waste in finances; would be better spent in militaristic pursuits. The instant his imposing six-foot figure appeared above deck, the captain of 'Shin-ra's Pride' addressed him with an appropriate salute. Sephiroth disdained protocol and cut to the blunt of the blade, as he always did. "Report."

"We'll be at the southern perimeter within the hour. Rough seas, but nothing the ship can't handle. A march to the capital is still our only option unless we return–"

"No. Proceed."

Winds slapped across the deck and stirred his long hair like quicksilver as the General passed the captain and stepped up to the railing. Peering off into the distance his otherworldly eyes cast out to the beautiful sea. As a massive blue blanket with a shimmer of shredded diamond, the ocean about 'Shin-ra's Pride' crashed viciously. Sephiroth watched vacantly, as a lost soul, until an image miraculously materialized in the rippling waters. He gasped.

A most curious image, to be sure. A young woman, in the prime of her life with the most startlingly beautiful hair as silver as his own. Marble complexion and texture of flesh matched his delicately crafted facial features. And the eyes! A sheer replica–as the waters themselves, a vibrant sapphire and soft green. Just as Sephiroth's inner systems shrunk with a half-pleasing, half-painful jar, the image seemed to waver, distorted like the dilution of wine. Lovely waves of steel melted into an odd-shaped helmet; the youthful flesh faded into a deep, alien blue. Ah, but the eyes... the eyes never changed.

_Jenova..._

Hurriedly, the General withdrew. It more than alarmed him...it tossed his normally disciplined mind into a hellish pandemonium. If hearing voices hadn't marked him as abnormal enough, seeing alien images that resembled him would ensure his socially- dysfunctional status.

Off into the shadows of the looming landmass, the sun began its majestic descent, surrendering its domination for another night. A wild myriad of the spectrum spread among the Da-chao Mountains. And there, underneath the wild beauty of the towering peaks was ancient Wutai herself.

"Welcome to Southern Wutai, General Sephiroth."

Sephiroth acknowledged the greeting with the barest of nods. His mind was very much elsewhere, on the plan to be executed. His lieutenant trotted at the General's flank, chatting ceaselessly. It was he, Michael Chao-da, the flame-haired, farcical warrior of unknown origin, that had cajoled Sephiroth into seeing to the matter of Wutai's conquer himself. At first, the General couldn't tear himself from the numerous recruiting duties at Gongaga. He'd met a promising young man named Zack, a native of the village.

"War with Wutai will be legendary. You should be at the center of the storm." This did Michael write in every military letter, gush over every PHS conversation. With this did he lure Sephiroth. Truth be told, the General needed only the most gentle prodding. Glory. Respect. Honor. And an outlet to the murderous desire. The bloodlust burned deep within as if by the flames of the Planet. So much violence had been visited upon him–so satisfying to deliver it upon others!

Air rushed down his lungs. Away from the polluted confinement of Midgar, this wild country provided an eyeful of aesthetic delight. A vast field of lush grass flowing to the benign zephyrs, with miles of crystalline shorelines to the east. The weather relented, though the captain of "Shin-ra's Pride" indicated that a march remained necessary. That didn't disconcert the physically fit Sephiroth–in fact, a walk might prove advantageous. After all, the battle needed prime planning. Details were important. The slightest miscalculation could set Mission Wutai back another few weeks.

Unacceptable...

Flicking the streaming steel-colored bangs aside, the General glanced back at the army of SOLDIER. Thousands of 1st's, 2nd's, 3rd's and Shin-ra Guards followed in his shadow. Each level had been divided up into divisions and amalgamated with another level to ensure maximum distribution. Several Beta SOLDIERs of 2nd teamed up with Alpha SOLDIERs of 1st, as well as the merging of 3rd's of Gamma, 2nd's of Delta and so forth. There's no way to wreck a war sooner than sending in your inferior members to the front lines unaccompanied by higher ranks.

Sharp sunlight glinted off numerous blades, sabers, and scimitars, falchions and katanas. They appeared as nether-demons, clothed in midnight leathers. Here and there, a Shin-ra guard stood out, donned in a navy, but for the most part, it remained a uniformly ebony mass. Good old black, a standby and a favorite of the General. He could order them all to parade naked, had he so willed it. Master of all their destinies...

_...And yet, not of my own..._

Shin-ra's army marched for the remainder of the uneventful day. For several days this continued until they swallowed the distance. One night, when Sephiroth bid them to rest he briefly toyed with the idea of plowing the army on ahead, past a bridge. His two head men stood bitterly divided. His lieutenant advised against it but his subcommander urged Sephiroth to do anything but listen to Michael.

They had waited for the dawn...and with it came nothing. No attack. No ambush. Not even one single assassination attempt. So, they broke camp and headed for the last few miles before Wutai. Thousands they were, a blade of shining death. When first SOLDIER reached the bridge they'd dwelt by the army halted and informed Omega, Sephiroth's elite force of the highest 1st's. The General came forward but hardly listened to the babble by his two lead subordinates. Again, his absent-minded thoughts, stole away in curiosity of this wondrous land._ My ancestry, perhaps? Answers to the questions of my elusive heritage?_ Shaking away such irrelevant thoughts, the Head of SOLDIER reminded himself the past was just that–past–and of no use to him.

"A bridge, sir. We must transverse to continue onto Wutai," declared Terence, snapping his leader out of remise.

Michael smiled. "Well, Terry, I've known you for a long time and you never cease to amaze me with your ability to state the obvious."

His peer frowned but did not reply.

"After me," the General smoothly cut in. As the High Commander of Shin-ra's army, Sephiroth believed he belonged at the front lines. No PHS-leading general was he. No, Sephiroth would lead with his sword, and die by his sword. Sephiroth would lead his army, and die by his army.

Terrence protested that, however. His hand halted the General. "That would be against protocol. The General does not proceed first–the risk to his health is far too grave. I'll go on ahead."

"Still trying to steal all of Sephiroth's glory, Terry?" Michael inquired with a smirk.

"I'm merely trying to safeguard the life of–"

Irritated, Sephiroth cut in again. "Enough. I will go first." His hand came up to forestall any objections. "That is an order." Thrusting on forward, the silver-haired warrior left the contingent of Omega in a state of hesitant, but immediate, pursuit. His cloak rippled behind like a river of black ice as the General swept over the decrepit bridge.

The instant he drew three steps, Sephiroth knew it was a trap.

The dawn shattered into a mass of screaming warriors of oriental origins. Hundreds burst onto the scene, a myriad of colors. Feral shrieks bent the air visibly. It was a shock to the system and it rendered Sephiroth momentarily immobile. No novice to surprise attacks (he'd countered several in his military service and even in his pre-teen training!) the General also knew that his finest stood in disarray; he, himself included...That would not do.

At the corner of his exotic emerald eyes, the master materia-wielder witnessed a Wutain bowl his sub-commander over. All else blurred as the first wave of vicious warriors crashed into SOLDIER. All thoughts of betrayal, deception, and possible attempted assassination–all of it fled as he lifted Masemune reverently and became one with the violence itself.

A scream. His scream. That of the death of Guardian itself spewed from two pale lips. The General executed a three-revolution, sideways kata with deadly precision. Deadly because his trio of opponents perished at impact. Fully bloodstained instantly–fringing the black-cloaked prodigy as he continued with the swing and decapitated another. Still more katas befell the Wutain attackers in a series of feints, parries, and final, fatal thrusts.

With ferocity, the attackers reciprocated by wielding origami, knives, boomerangs, and elegantly crafted katanas. Wutains, Sephiroth realized, identifying the shredded linen bandanas of deep green, yellows, and reds. Such a stark contrast to their opponents, the somber black and grays of SOLDIER. Nor did the rebel band come magically-unarmed. From hundreds of blades, materia of the five-colored spectrum shimmered as the Wutains cast _Fire_, _Sleep_, and _Cure_.

The War-larkil. 'Death's Hand'.

Watching a hacked body splatter to the ground after he electrified the warrior-woman following a vicious downward cut, Sephiroth shrugged, amused. Death's Hand? More like the hand of the dying...

As if the clashing of blades the War-larkil and SOLDIER engaged again. Morning sun rippled down upon several hundred weapons and highlighted the strings of blood. The dead, the dying. Sephiroth's elite, Omega, lead Shin-ra's army. To the General's right, three Betas collapsed under the power of a sleep spell. The young legend couldn't imagine what the rebel band hoped to accomplish–SOLDIER outnumbered them almost ten to one–but he proceeded to knit the various units into an efficient killing team...He was their leader and he would lead them to victory.

Twisting and turning, silver tresses spanning like the shattering of lightning, he advanced upon them. An additional two met cold steel in an advancing and returning slice. Near flawless but not flawless. A tall lanky Wutain gashed his upper arm with a throwing knife but shortly regretted the action when he found a hole in his chest. Masemune struck again; Masemune drank again.

Sephiroth could almost acknowledge the sheer joy. Almost, anyway. To embrace the murder..._A monster. An abomination. A creature with no soul...Terror from the Skies..._Where had that thought come from?

When the trumpet blare sounded Sephiroth knew it had ended. Dozens of Midgar's finest lay as broken, bloodied toys among the tall grass. But, to their credit, few of the Wutains had escaped. One could, considering the circumstances, declare this a victory. An ambush is always a disaster, however, SOLDIER expertly turned the blade of war. Any _normal_ person would consider this a victory.

The General did not. One death to another. It was pointless–but that was the harsh reality of war. "Where are my sub-commanders?"

Michael promptly appeared but Terence could not be found. Neither could several hundred SOLDIERs of 1st's. After the body count, a fifth of the army had perished and another two-fifths remained missing without preamble. So much for a victory...That infuriated the General. Why had his subcommander fled? Why had any of them?

And who had revealed their location and thus betrayed them?

"You know," Michael added as an afterthought, "It's odd how Terence fled, unharmed, when things turned ugly..."

...Terence...jumped...but not harmed...

"Indeed," Sephiroth remarked, feathery eyebrows knit, "Suspicious indeed."

Suspicion. Deception. Assassination.

Such was the life of Sephiroth.

At long last, they had arrived.

Second in wealth and sheer volume to only the grand Midgar herself, the capital of the Western Continents, ancient Wutai, diminutized its would-be assailants. Several thousand strong, still SOLDIER seemed disastrously inadequate to wrestle this magnificent pillar of strength.

Crested in the beautiful granite Da-Chao Mountains, Wutai sprawled over the rocks with a network of glass walkways. Interspersed among the oriental symbols and ritualistic weaponry was the edifices of stone and clay. Those detailed, if a bit primitive, foundations, craved from the rock of the cliffs, suspended each walkway that also held a canopy of golden-orange lights. Currently those lights remained dim, but later they would shimmer as a string of flaxen suns.

Within the cobblestone streets individuals of all walks of life buzzed around–some rushed to the market for one last bargain shop while others drifted home for a cup of tea after a day of hard training. Sephiroth believed ignorance drove their mindless existence. Lord Godo was unlikely to inform his people of their imminent danger, cowardly as he was. They stood in the path of death, of SOLDIER.

_People are stupid. They think only as individuals and that their personal needs and wants are met. To them, it's always someone else's problem until the situation is beyond even a cohesive effort. Then they are always so shocked to find themselves on the floor, defeated._

Michael had suggested that the army come in all arms bared with no forewarning. Sephiroth disdained such a dishonorable method. Hardly a saint, but Masemune's wielder adhered to a code of ethics. A flare, clear announcement of attack, stabbed in the skies. Now Wutai knew of their danger. Now Lord Godo could deny it no longer. Flourishing his multi-colored, rune-encrusted robes of state, the stout ruler of Wutai appeared on the parapets of the city's wall.

"I am Lord Godo. Absolute Master of Wutai and the Western realms. You are of Shin-ra are you not? General Sephiroth, correct?"

Michael hissed, "Don't bother with that! Attack!"

That made Sephiroth frown. Never would he conceal his identity–what little the General knew of it anyway–for fear of this rabble. Silver hair flowing as he extended his head proudly, the master warrior declared, "That is correct. I am Sephiroth, of Midgar." A ripple creased Godo's face but the war-hero ignored it. "I offer you this final opportunity to lay down your kingdom to the might of Shin-ra, acknowledge the President as your ruler and Wutai shall be spared destruction. Refuse and your beautiful kingdom will rent, _never_ to be the same again."

Godo's eyes flared. In anger. In challenge. "_You,_ General, have the gall to ask _us_ to surrender? Our proud nation which has seen tranquility and outlasted graver threats than Shin-ra." His belly shook as each word clipped in amused arrogance. "I'm wrong about you Migarians. You smog-dwellers _do_ have a sense of humor."

Many varied citizens peeked out of the clay buildings. Some seemed of the same mind as their leader–indeed, a few chuckled at his rebuttal. A select number even had the audacity, and idiocy, to call him a 'traitor to Da-Chao'. But a tension settled upon the vast majority. They could view the expanse and technological-advancement of their oppressors.

_How can they not read their death in my eyes?_ Denial. Yes, they've known peace and prosperity for centuries. However, it is sheer stupidity to hold your hand over a foot-long gash to stem the blood-flow. Sheer stupidity to defy an army twice your size. In both, death is inevitable...though they had to know that resistance was futile, still Wutai railed against the dying of the night. He had to give them credit for that.

Not for much longer, however.

Eyes flashing like a moonlit mako pond, Sephiroth heaved himself aboard an APC (Armed Personal Carrier). The afternoon sun streamed down silver of a mane and a blade. Sweeping back the ebony cloak, in a cold, clear voice he said, "Will you laugh as your blood runs in your beloved streets? Will you laugh as your beloved city perishes in flames?" The General dipped his head briefly. "Look, laugh, and despair!"

A stunning cerulean streak exploded from Sephiroth's upraised fist. It impacted at the base of Wutai's towering gate and froze them solid. Gasps. Of horror, not humor, he noted with grim satisfaction. Godo looked positively ill as if he thought that Sephiroth might be able to shatter the entire capital with a mere fist.

Not quite, but not too far off either.

Eyes shut, Sephiroth muttered an activation word for his green materia. Several shined on the powerful Masemune, of crimson, navy, emerald, lavender and gold. Punctuating the sharp command, he punched the air and unleashed the raw mako energy.

The gate imploded. It sounded as glaciers crushing. Debris and smoke rushed up to block the view of all SOLDIERs present. Shin-ra's army screamed in joy and praise of their leader, the man, the myth, the legend in the flesh.

Sephiroth, harbinger of death and master of Masemune approached Wutai. His cloak billowed from behind as the wings of Chaos. Eskallanilna shone proudly, instrumental to the death of thousands. Blood of thousands past and thousands to come...He entered Wutai. And his troops followed in his wake.

The streets were alive.

Bodies lay everywhere, hacked limbs discarded as the fragmented blades they once carried. Crimson came the tide of life to rain the innocent blood of the heavens. All around, fires snapped and snarled, consuming Wutai.

Or maybe, not so alive.

Sephiroth could barely hear himself over the insane noise. His orders, if heard, melted away to the bloodlust. Chaos, of the lower-reaches, in its most brutal form, had seized this once beautiful city. And, he, the architect of the slaughter.

_For once it is not me who suffers! Not me!_

Blazing as the flames themselves, he diced and sliced a throng of Wutain warriors. Remnants of the War-larkil rose up to fight, if unsuccessfully. Leader of the assault, he needed to find and dispatch Lord Godo himself. Leader verus leader. A wonderful showdown. But Godo had vanished...and for that matter, so had Michael.

That momentarily startled the General but he was quick to recover. While expertly twisting his right hand, the complementary appendage touched a gleaming green materia. More flames burst forth from his palm, striking a red-bearded farmer in the chest. Not a military man, no, little difference did that make. To Sephiroth, everyone was a soldier once battle ensues. None are safe and certainly not this lowbred specimen as he howled and died. Several others pedestrians caught afire and his ally SOLDIERs soon realized that these foes fell well to flame.

Lightning arched past, charging the air, narrowingly missing him. Had it connected, there would be no General to speak of. Running past more orient-designed buildings he paused under an archway to catch his breath. And, to his vast relief and suspicion, the former lab rat, discovered his sub-commander Terence. At first the young war veteran refused to acknowledge the subordinate's presence, instead studying the graphic, and grim, scene of destruction.

More death. A normal man would be sickened at the sight.

But Sephiroth did not qualify for the classification of normal. Hardly, that. Bodies had already started to attract flies and all manners of unpleasant insects. Death. Pain. Suffering. He'd seen so much of that it left little impression on a numbed soul. Meaningless. All of it. Just Shin-ra's attempt to annex another country to further their financial resources.

_And when the blood dries, how would I have benefited?_

"Are you alright?" Sephiroth stated coldly. His inquiry was not out of concern but prompted by annoyance. Any injury concurred by Terence would require healing. Thus, a consumption of his valuable materia energy.

The dark-haired subcommander shook his head–either to indicate the negative or against the pain in his murky-cast eyes. He murmured, "Well enough, General. How about you?"

"Fine," barked Sephiroth, piercing aquamarine eyes assessing the battle. "No thanks to you."

Terence lifted an eyebrow but added no comment. Instead, he leaned close to his leader and whispered, "There's a traitor in the camp. I have long suspected but never had any identity to pin down. Now I do."

"Yourself?" came Sephiroth smooth-as-a-silken-blade reply.

To anyone else, that might have provoked a vicious denial. However, the alleged insurrectionist merely blinked twice. "No, sir. I believe it to be lieutenant Michael."

A _twang _cut into Sephiroth's retort. Hidden partially by a barrel, a young Wutain girl hurled a three-prong knife straight as his subcommander. Instinctively, the General snatched the weapon from its mid-air flight with his thumb and forefinger. Pursued hotly by the young war veteran, the would-be killer took off, ducking a deadly swing of Masemune. However, the bandana girl found her own knife imbedded in her left leg. She survived the encounter...and would remain maimed for life. But of what concern was that to him?

"Thank-you," breathed Terence.

With a curt wave, the silver-haired warrior dismissed the incident as inconsequential. "Dead subordinates are of no use to me." He paused noting, with only the mildest regret, how that extended to the length of their 'friendship'. "So you say Michael betrayed us by disclosing our location on the bridge to the _War-larkil_?"

Terence nodded. "Yes and you're the only Migarian who can say...War-larkil...with a Wutain accent."

That meant little to the General. "Very funny. Interestingly enough, you and Michael are of the same opinions of each other's loyalty–or lack thereof."

No answer seemed appropriate to that. Screams created a blank backdrop of noise. As Sephiroth intended to plunge into the maddened swirls of battle his young subcommander grabbed his arm and pressed a PHS into his gloved hand. As first, the General might have cast it to the ground. Terence persisted, closing the five digits.

"Regardless of whomever is behind the treason, General, do your duty: summon the rest of the army and lead them to war."

Then his subcommander vanished into the human barricades that sought to slaughter each other. Crisp aquamarine eyes, his, drifted down to appraise the PHS. One call. That's all it would take. One call and Wutai would be decimated; the war, finished..._And of course, I'll never know why these people consider me their betraying kin. I'll have subjected a nation not for its benefit but to satisfy the avariciousness of Shin-ra. So much meaningless death...Such a meaningless war..._

Attack. Fight. Kill. Don't hesitate. Don't stop. Don't even think. War is the deadly boardgame of the insane: a mere doubt and destruction could result. Hesitate–lose. Stop–lose. Think–lose. Attack, fight, kill–and win.

With a click, the device activated. Loudly Sephiroth commanded into the receiver, "General Sephiroth here. Omega A1B2D3G4. All SOLDIERs converge upon the capital. I repeat, attack Wutai. Sephiroth out." Then he stowed the PHS in a pocket on his ebony belt. With Masemune shining from the afternoon sun, the prodigy of Midgar war-screamed.

The cry rippled into the frenzied masses like the collapse of a tree into a pond. Explosive. Crashing. Devastating. Many Wutains shrieked, in challenge perhaps, or terror. Yes, definitely fear, for no sane man could face this pillar of paranormal strength. In unparalleled efficiency, the young war veteran dipped on a knee to deliver a clean slash to an opponent and whipped around to slice another Wutain in half, ultimately leaving behind a trail of blood in his wake.

Ducking a shower of shirekens that imbedded themselves to the Turtle Paradise Pub he fled past, Masemune's Wielder hauled the PHS out with his left hand and stabbed and slaughtered with the other. Using a gloved thumb the General activated an aqua switch that summoned one of Shin-ra's Helicopters: Omega A1. The screams melted in his ears as more wild masses perished by blade and flame. And cries raged within his decadent soul. The cry of madness.

_Ira vehementi...ira vehementi..._

His eyes flashed as the flames that surrounded him. With a supreme effort, the General regained control. As a breeze cooled his feverish brow, that same wind beat down from above like a Behemont's wings. His head snapped up. Propellers blurred in Sephiroth's sight. Omega A1 had arrived. With a hand wave, he flagged it down. Masemune continued to pierce any who dared draw near. In their slanted eyes shone loathing, but fear was a more potent emotion than hate. A rope ladder fell from the air vehicle. Gripping Eskallanilna tightly he performed an acrobatic miracle by twisting mid-air to snare the rope life-line. Rope burn...but far better that mild discomfort than the sting of an origami in his gut.

Sephiroth hopped into the helicopter and grabbed the co-pilot's seat. In the pilot's chair, a twenty-year old brunette steered the helm. Lanine Trayal, another lieutenant of his, currently heading Shin-ra's Air Force. "Glad to see you, sir!" she hollered against the wind.

His lips tightened. The socially-defunct Midgarian was unaccustomed to discourse aside from orders given and orders taken. This did not qualify as either. "Where's the whole damn air force?"

While her superior detested flying Lanine seemed at home in the skies. "Recalled to North Corel, sir!"

Sephiroth sighed.

"Where to, sir?"

Frowning, the silver-haired warrior glanced below. Omega A1 continued to soar over Wutai, affording him an opportunity to view the army's progress. His side was winning–as fully expected–but the amounting losses totaled past his tally. Wutai had been warned. By the camp-traitor presumably. Nevertheless, smoke arose from several oriental edifices. Half of Wutai had fallen to his forces. Judging from the progress, Shin-ra would seize the other half in a matter of hours.

_Alpha has taken the War-larkil Tower. Excellent. Delta is advancing upon the new market. Hmm. A little behind schedule..._

"Sir?" Lanine prompted.

The General then realized he'd yet to issue an order. Biting his lip thoughtfully, he began, "Return to the south-west side. Land her down by the Turtle Paradise–"As the head of SOLDIER spoke, the PHS lit up scarlet. Incoming message: Urgent. Flicking the switch, Sephiroth answered, "General Sephiroth here."

"Sir," Sephiroth instantly recognized Michael's voice. "New Wutain recruitment's are advancing from the Da-Chao Mountains. I think you'd better take a look at this."

Michael's dire tone unnerved the General. Still, Sephiroth had enough on his itinerary to deal with. "Lieutenant, handle it yourself. General out–"Before he could terminate the conversation, a stomach-wrenching scream could be heard. Sephiroth pressed the PHS closer to his ear but deciphered no other sound; his calls had no answer. Lanine looked positively ashen. Since her inappropriate approaches to her superior failed, the lieutenant had set her sights lower and taken a fancy to his subordinate.

Her soft-blue eyes pleaded.

Sephiroth sighed. "To the Da-Chao Mountains."

He never saw it coming.

Despite the inner paranoia, Sephiroth couldn't have remotely suspected another ambush. It was, after all, his own army–a one man army, at that. Shots had rung out, disabling Omega A1. Michael's rescue, immediately postponed, became sheer survival. A gasline ruptured. The helicopter caught fire instantly, sending it and its occupants plummeting to the mercilessly sharp rocks below. Lanine did not escape. The twenty-two year old war veteran remained quite fortunate as a levitation spell fortified him vertically long enough for the General to reach the Da-Chao Mountain and heave himself aboard.

Betrayed. Again.

No, not Terence. He didn't know where Terence was. Probably still within Wutai's stinking streets. Probably dead.

"I underestimated you, Sephiroth. You do run a good war. Good enough to kill your fellow man."

_Utter lunacy_, the silver-haired warrior thought as he straightened. _I am not related to those backwards savages!_

"But now the war games are over. Time for the General to fall."

As if compelled by cue, Sephiroth glanced down from the unstable ledge of the orient rockface. A tiny plume of smoke arose from the felled Omega A1. Enough said. Returning his gaze to the speaker, the General attained a clearer view. Yes, a young insolent man of twenty-something, who, for all the Wutain attire, held a Shin-ra riffle. At his side, the anti-Masemune, Murasame, stayed sheathed. As a lithe raven, he remained perched upon the 'nose' of the Da-Chao statue that made up the mountains. Winds shrieked softly as Sephiroth squinted his elegant green eyes.

His lips parted as the traitor unmasked himself. "I had thought better of you, lieutenant," the General said coldly as he clutched Masemune.

Amusement flickered over Michael's face. Disdainfully, the former subordinate tossed the gun off the cliff. It fell soundlessly, ominously. "Thinking? Ah, since you do so little of that, it wouldn't stand to reason you do it all that well...now would it?"

Sephiroth refused to spar words with him. "Before I rip out your treacherous heart," he whispered icily. "Tell me why you dared turn upon Shin-ra."

His former lieutenant watched him thoughtfully. "Because...I don't belong to Shin-ra...and neither do you."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes. We belong to Wutai. Ours is the blood of the god Da-Chao."

To that, the Head of SOLDIER laughed, "Ridiculous."

A smile by Michael sent involuntary shivers through the General. "Deny it as you may, your ancestry undoubtedly stems from Wutai. Your eyes are slanted as ours. Your hair is that of Da-Chao's mistress, Ky-lia: moon-silver. Blessed Wutai, Sephiroth, you even have the cheekbones of her!" A chuckle. "Your soul belongs to Da-Chao."

Thrusting his black cloak aside and whipping out Masemune, Sephiroth snarled, "My soul is my own."

At the sight of Eskallanilna, Michael leapt down from the statue to land a foot away. Wind hissed as the two former allies eyed each other. A prickling sensation alerted Sephiroth that more Mako was afoot. Before he could comment, however, his opponent's form shimmered. A golden brilliance spread from the Wutain's palms, lit by a simple crimson materia orb. It shone so fiercely, his image vanished at the center. It expanded to envelop Michael, altering his appearance. At that horrifying moment, Sephiroth realized that his defected lieutenant stood there no longer.

Da-Chao, legendary god of Wutai, had been summoned.

Screams erupted as the combatants engaged. Michael, now fused with Da-Chao, possessed unthinkable strength. He obtained the early–and perhaps only–lead by rushing his opponent, forcing their shoulders to violently collide. It shocked Sephiroth to realize his physical prowess was insufficient to maintain his balance. The ledge vanished beneath his feet.

The General would fall, quite literally, in his first round of battle.

_No, come, don't let me die!_

As if from a separate entity, a gloved hand burst from Sephiroth to grasp the sheer rockface. Irony could indeed be his life's theme–the stony finger that currently sustained his life also represented the creature who intended to kill him. Masemune remained firmly gripped by his other hand, humming hatefully in tune to its opposite, Murasame. All five digits stung from suspending the young veteran.

Not for much longer, however.

Michael's distorted voice could be heard amid the disquiet wind. "Amusing, don't you think, that you die within the land of your birth...traitor?"

Sephiroth didn't find it all that humorous–but then, he was the one on the dying end.

Murasame–an impeccable length of diamond-steel, it rose high to seemingly slice the sun in half in the General's most bizarre vision. He felt the air press down in a deadly descent. In desperation, Masemune's wielder lifted the blade to ward off the blow.

Masemune–another immaculate blade, the anti to Murasame, sang sharply as it deflected the attack. Painful rivulets that lightninged down his shoulder told him the parry had succeeded. Fighting two battles, and losing both fast, Sephiroth gradually weakened from the ordeal. With a twist of his wrist, the warrior released the blades at the hilt. Michael almost pitched forward, though caught himself at the crucial moment. In a paranormal effort, the General dragged himself onto the ledge.

The ledge buckled not a heartbeat later and Da-Chao lost its index finger.

Breathe. Regain strength. Attack. Gripping Eskallanilna, Sephiroth accomplished all three in a breath. He dove in, scoring an eight-inch gash to 'Michael's' leg. Their screams melted as one: his, of triumph; Michael's, of tragedy. Da-Chao countered with a massive downward cut, then a forward-back-forward kata. Sparks flew at each impact. Masemune to Murasame. The eyes of Wutai's god clashed with those of Midgar's war hero.

And, beneath the mountain's shadow, Wutai burned.

"You have a tainted legacy of terror, Sephiroth. You shame the land of your ancestors. In honor of Wutai I will unmake you!"

Sephiroth's lips twitched. The shock was of the colliding blades all over again; as sharp as lightning and as intense as flames. He, General Sephiroth. Master of Masemune. Head of SOLDIER. Legendary war hero, expert materia-wielder...Inside, the battle-hardened, powerful leader of the strongest force on the Planet, a quiet green-eyed boy screamed.

_Taint. Legacy. Terror._

Those words. Always those words. What did they mean? Would he ever be free of them?

_Sors Immannius. Et Imanis._

In the black recess of the mind, a voice, soft and loving,_ "You are my legacy, my son...Sephiroth."_

That scream intensified tenfold. Emerald eyes flashed, wild and erratic. Da-Chao slammed the blades as one, knocking his victim to his knees. A perfect capitalization on his adversary's distraction. Pressure, as such Sephiroth couldn't resist, immobilized the General. From the force of the two powerfully clashing opponents, the ground shuddered, threatening to collapse altogether. Sweat poured down the porcelain face, now covered with mountain dust. Before him, the Wutain god loomed, a moment away from crushing 'the traitor of the tainted legacy'.

No!

No!

No!

He would not die. He _could not die. _He served no purpose in life yet the desire to live is strong. Unbeknownst to himself, the General began muttering, as if in delirium, the sacred language of the Guardian and the Ancients. "Veni, veni, venias!" came his wild shriek.

A prayer of the dying. A cry to the higher powers.

"No me mori facias!"

A prayer of the living. A cry to his mother.

The image...of the face in the water...haunted his mind's eye.

"Ira vehementi!"

Glistening golden light rained from the heavens. It halloed the General's statue as his right hand twirled above his head. Flames columned from his palms. Explosive heat engulfed Michael-as-Da-Chao, hurling him backwards and crashing into the ground with enough force to inspire another mini-quake. The pressure mercifully vanquished, Sephiroth crumpled. Tremors seized his muscles. The strength of Wutai's god, that of which can crush bones, might have provoked the exhaustion...but it could just have easily been prompted by the shock of the unnatural power he'd employed.

Not natural. Never been natural.

Trudging to his weary feet, Sephiroth cast a glance at Wutai. Decimated. Smoke continued heavenward from the highest edifices, but, for the majority, the siege was over. As he expected, Shin-ra had begun its occupation process. He lifted a dirty hand to his throbbing forehead.

_Son! Sephiroth!_

_Son! Sephiroth!_

Again, the twin voices. Both women. Both spoke with loving concern. The silver-haired warrior spun on his heel. Murasame sliced through the air, sailing straight at him. Sephiroth whirled to evade the weapon. Murasame flew off the mountain, out of sight.

Agony electrifying his systems to near shutdown, Sephiroth staggered to his former subordinate. Deadly Eskallanilna balanced in a sweaty palm. Beneath the bitter allies-turned-adversaries Wutai choked in a sea of smoke, a sea of bodies. The old ways would be vanquished. The new ways would be embraced.

And all it took was the death of thousands.

"Do...not...forget...the legacy..."

"To hell with the legacy! To hell with Wutai!" And with that, the General unleashed the remaining energy in his emerald-hued materia on Masemune. Pure as natal essence a blue-white bolt speared down to incinerate Michael/Da-Chao. Only dust remained.

The chopping of air advised Sephiroth that he was not alone. A helicopter with a Shin-ra insignia hovered by the broken ledge. Its whipping, caused by the propellers, fluttered his lovely quicksilver hair and his cloak breathed as shadow. The dust didn't stand a chance. Bound by the force of the air, it coiled his blade thrice then disappeared into the afternoon sky.

"General!"

Sephiroth glanced at the cockpit of the helicopter. As evidenced by his presence, Terence did not perish, commanding Omega B1. With Wutai already captured the airforce was now useless. Whoever had sent them clearly knew nothing of timing. At least it would spare the General of the discomfort, and danger, of climbing down the Da-Chao Mountains.

Safely in the helicopter, the Head of SOLDIER surveyed his victory. Proud Wutai...at long last under the iron heel of Shin-ra. Midgar would profit. Wutai would be sucked dry and tossed aside as a juicy melon. And all it took was the death of thousands. All it took was one soul.

With a flick of his hand, Sephiroth tossed the map to the streets below.

And they called it the Meaningless War.

"_Indeed, meaningless, for the resources Shin-ra gained from the rape of Wutai were ultimately not enough to justify the manpower used to take her," Vincent drawled, his blood-red eyes seething on the pages as if burn right through them. "Attempting to rationalize with those higher up, though, is a waste of time. Sephiroth clearly realized that."_

_Luke uttered a squawk, the sort chocobos give when all flustered. "Yes, well, Shin-ra was quite...evil..."_

_When the former-Turk turned those eyes on Luke, the scientist blanched. "Evil hardly begins to describe it. Wutai did nothing to provoke the attack. I know her people. For over three hundred years they have merely lived their lives, harming no one. They are benevolent, gentle...a people that didn't earn that which Shin-ra inflicted upon her."_

"_You seem to know quite a bit about Wutai."_

"_I should. It's my ancestral homeland. Sephiroth's as well."_

_At that proclamation Luke's bright blue eyes nearly popped. "Really? Fascinating...And how, might I ask, did you draw that conclusion..." His pen hovered over a pad of paper, his expression eager._

_Vincent chuckled, his voice sounding like bells in a fouled church. "All in due time, my friend. All in due time." _


	7. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_**Through the Eyes of a SOLDIER**_

Lightning flashed down, reflected in shining emerald eyes.

A small Shin-ra truck plowed through the muck and mire, the driver hurling obscenities at every snag in the road. In the early day, the weather cooperated but as night neared, rains came down in slashing sheets to saturate the road to Nibelhiem. The driver dared not complain, however. As unhappy as he was about the climate, his superior, he of the emerald eyes, would not tolerate any objections.

Those mako green eyes shut, lurking beneath porcelain eyelids.

Inside the truck, two SOLDIERs and as many Shin-ra guards loitered about the cramped quarters. One Shin-ra guard sat dejectedly on a barrel while the other leaned over, looking sickly pale. Pacing energetically in the middle of the vehicle, a black-haired SOLDIER pumped his hands, holding a shining orb with a grin. No one spoke to the lone figure against the window and he preferred it as thus.

The beautiful eyes opened, accompanied by a sigh.

Sephiroth was tired. So dead tired. The type he had not experienced since his childhood horrors with Professor Hojo. That name crawled over the General and he immediately drowned it with usual military order. No time for the past. Then a smile broke his lips, devoid of warmth. The bastard had no idea where his precious 'experiment' had run off to. At last, out from under the watch of that scrawny, weasel-eyed scientist.

At last some down time, away from the torturous limelight. He didn't trust the media—they often twisted the truth to boost their TV ratings. The smile deepened. Oh, how the Shin-ra Executive Press would kick themselves if they knew that the Great General Sephiroth had rode to an insignificant town in a run-down truck past their head office in Midgar...

Like the heavens themselves beyond poured forth the weeping of the Lifestream, its gates burst open to flood the road again. The driver uttered another curse, turning the windshield wipers up to max. The rain splattered against the truck's window as if to force its way in. Sephiroth shook his head. This was all starting to irritate him: the presence of his subordinates, the second-rate truck, the dispirited rain.

_Head of Shin-ra's finest military operation, SOLDIER, and I am reduced to this pathetic mode of transportation. _

Glancing out of the corner of his emerald eye, Sephiroth monitored his First SOLDIER. With an impatient gesture he barked at the SOLDIER to settle down but Zack responded as a dog would—obeyed instantly and soon forgotten. Currently, Zack peered at the ill-looking Shin-ra Guard. Cloud, Sephiroth remembered. Cloud Strife. His thin lips twisted. Rarely did he recall a sentry's name. But he had been fascinated by the blossoming friendship between the two. Fascinated and a bit jealous.

_Jealous? What do I have to be jealous about? They are but insects and I am nearly a god..._It did disturb him all the same. And it drew curiosity. Sephiroth did not understand companionship very well, having experienced almost none of it as a child. Nor had he intended to be acquainted with either Zack or Cloud. This mission had been meant for his First Officer, Terence. It was the fickle hand of fate that which drew him to the little town of Nibelhiem today.

Sephiroth hadn't even known of the town's existence prior to this mission. President Russell Shin-ra had given Sephiroth a dispatch requesting he send someone to investigate a malfunctioning mako reactor at the Nibel Mountain Range. As usual the General delegated the task to his First Officer. Unexpectedly, Terence corresponded with excitement, explaining that his nephew, Zack, had been stationed at Nibelhiem. He suggested that he and Sephiroth go on an 'away mission' to spend some vacation time with his nephew.

That the General could not fathom--his enthusiasm for visiting relatives. Knowing nothing of his own, the General declined, citing an overload in administrative duties. Truthfully, he couldn't stand the thought of facing the ill ease of being asked: who are your siblings/parents/family?

"It sure is raining hard."

Emerging from his reverie, Sephiroth glanced at his subordinates. Zack had spoken, sapphire eyes bright with exhilaration. The General shook his head irritably. Children. He commanded an army of adolescents. With a cheerfulness that made Sephiroth's blood run cold, Zack chatted with the two Shin-ra Guards. Envy seethed from him. He could never be that joyous, having had the joy beaten out him as a child..._So what if I am not the cheeriest person around? _He had his military papers and endless missions to keep him occupied.

Seeing Zack perform some jumping jacks, Sephiroth snapped, "Hey. Settle down."

Despite the harsh tone of his superior, Zack's expression never wavered. "They gave me some new materia." He displayed a purple orb. "I can't wait to use it."

Sephiroth snorted. "Just like a kid."

That made Zack flush, though sheepishly without a hint of anger. "You going to brief us on this mission?"

_Eager to die, are we? Don't worry, death finds us all eventually. _He hesitated on what he should explain to a subordinate. "...This isn't a typical mission."

Oddly enough the First SOLDIER seemed delighted at the prospect. "Good!"

"Why do you say that?" Sephiroth inquired, crossing his arms.

Zack blinked in surprise at the question. "I joined SOLDIER so I could be like you." No shame tinted his cheeks in admitting that. "But by the time I reached First Class, the war was already over. My big hopes of becoming a hero like you ended with the war. That's why I always sing up when there's a mission. Kind of a way to prove myself."

To that, Sephiroth grunted and returned his gaze to the window. Praise had showered him as much as mako. After all the years of compliments, the native of Midgar could still not become accustomed to the attention. Perhaps a bit miffed at his failure to respond, his subordinate lowered a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder and asked, "Say, how do you feel, Mister Sephiroth?"

A gesture of good will and faith, perhaps, but one that still irked Shin-ra's High Commander. No one had prompted him on his health in any manner. It was a common enough question, he knew. Why had no one asked him that before? Had no one cared to ask?

His work was always safe harbor from the awkwardness called conversation, so Sephiroth took refuge in it now. "...I thought you wanted a briefing...?" Zack brightened up so Midgar's head SOLDIER continued, running a hand up the impeccable length of Masamune. "Our mission is to investigate an old mako reactor. There have been reports of it malfunctioning and producing brutal creatures. First, we will dispose of the creatures and then we will locate the problem and neutralize it."

At the mention of monsters, Zack shuddered. "Brutal creatures...Where?"

Sephiroth thought that was a given (considering their destination) but answered anyway. "The mako reactor at Nibelhiem."

The name of the town stirred life into the crouched form of Cloud. The Shin-ra guard muttered weakly, "Nibelhiem. That's where I'm from."

Breathing thinly, Sephiroth gazed at Cloud in bewilderment. "Hmm...Hometown..." Hometown. Something even the lowest sentry of SOLDIER could lay claim to and yet not he, the highest-ranking military officer in all of Shin-ra.

Why didn't he have a place to call home, parents to call mother and father, a legacy he could look up to?

JENOVA... 

Hard as crushed diamonds, the lightning burned within his emerald depths as the voice spoke to him once more. All throughout the journey the frequency of the encounters increased and with it, Sephiroth became dangerously detached from reality. Damn the inevitable looks his subordinates would give—he would answer anyway. The General's lips parted...

And slammed shut an instant later. The shock of the truck spinning jarred his senses. Cloud and the other guard looked at each other in mounting horror. Zack turned to Sephiroth with a worried expression (the first he'd had all evening) and a need for reassurance. The driver swore viciously and craned his head to yell, "Sir, something just crashed into our truck!"

With a sardonic smile at the man's vague term, Sephiroth straightened casually. His eyes gleamed cool with the impending bloodlust. Unleashing Eskallanilna, he let the white bolts ripple dramatically down the blade.

"That would be our Monster..."

'Monster' was a forty-foot green dragon, equipped with fire-breath, sharp claws and a nasty disposition. He did not wait until Sephiroth could mount some materia onto his blade. His attack came fast and furious, knocking the General to the muddy ground. The rain continued to pour in from above making the ground hazardously slick. His footing rarely sure, still Sephiroth maintained the fight, ducking a swift claw that would have crushed him.

Fire coned from the dragon's maw, oddly unaffected by the rain. Sephiroth deflected the magical assault with Eskallanilna, sustaining no damage. The same could not be said of his lone ally. Only Zack volunteered to engage in combat, and for the majority of the melee he could not contribute adequately. The burst of flames immediately incapacitated him early on.

With a disgusted sigh, Sephiroth summoned a resurrection spell to restore his fallen comrade. Swirling a hand over his head, amid keeping the dragon away with a menacing Masemune, he called down celestial light to pool Zack. The pure iridescence burned bright momentarily then shattered into a thousand sparkles to float over his body. After climbing to his feet, the Shin-ra guard fell into a defensive stance.

Needless to say, Zack remained inactive for the remainder of the fight.

Lighting arched overhead as the blood spurted from the dragon. Sephiroth retaliated for his ally, scoring successive hits along its flank and prompting a screech of rage and pain from his opponent. With a swipe of its paw, the dragon countered but failed to hit home for Sephiroth had skillfully ducked underneath and rolled out of the way. Like the crack of a whip he came up to slash the offending appendage. More life-fluid to spew upon the carnage. It dissolved into a sickly pinkish liquid that vanished in the torrent of the rain.

Still, the dragon struggled. He dove at his hated adversary, attempting to make a meal of Sephiroth. His teeth came down to impale the ground. Again, the General evaded his enemy and capitalized on the error. Sephiroth performed a kata with dancing grace to slash the dragon's eyes. It fell back with a roar that made a mockery of the thunder.

Now blinded, the dragon fought with abandon, swiping with his claws at shadows. A single nail hit, but it struck against the steel of Eskallanilna and rebounded, leaving no mark upon the intended victim. Like a blade of midnight and moonlight, the hero of the Wutain War rushed his opponent and ripped open a leg, rendering it immobile.

Zack watched on, stunned, as if watching a god serve justice.

At this point, the dragon appeared ready to flee but Sephiroth cut off his escape route. Someone of a softer heart—and a stupider mind—might have let it go, but the General knew that should this beast live to see another day some citizen of Nibelhiem might not. The screams were outrageously loud, causing Zack to cover his ears and even Sephiroth winced.

He could not delay in sympathy, however. Its pain could have melted rocks but Sephiroth's spine and heart were made of steel. With the wave of a shining blade and he inflicted a magnificent blow to its head. The dragon's attacks came defensive now, whipping out a tail to ward off Zack when he might have interfered. This battle reminded Sephiroth of the encounter with Guardian. Only then he'd been an inexperienced third class SOLDIER. Now, in the full glory of his status and stature, Sephiroth decimated his foe with ease, as theatre that was a true pleasure to witness.

As a bolt of lightning, the General hurled Masamune directly at the dragon. It took the blade full in the neck. Claws flailed out in a last ditch effort to wound his attacker. But Sephiroth was not where the dragon guessed him to be, and the great green serpent collapsed, sending up a wave of blood and rainwater at the two SOLDIERs. It convulsed once and then lay silent.

Like a trail of crimson ribbons, Sephiroth stepped among the blood. Zack's. The dragon's. But none of it his. The rain slashed down, making his silver hair stick to his head like a steel helmet. With one hand he whipped the fluid off of Eskallanilna and the other dragged the weakened Zack back to the Shin-ra truck. After laying him on a barrel with the assistance of Cloud and the other guard, Sephiroth contacted his superior. As suspected, President Russell Shin-ra was unavailable, so he left a brief report with his assistant as to the status of Mission Nibelhiem. Shutting off the PHS, not really expecting a reply, he nodded for the driver to continue.

For the rest of the night they rode on without so much as a word.

Nibelhiem. A small town on the outskirts of the Nibel Mountain Range. A quiet, unremarkable settlement with little resources and even less importance. The only edifice worthy of note had been erected at the rear of the township, the 'haunted' Shin-ra Mansion. Two stories high with an inner basement and library. All and all, nothing warranting the attention of someone so sophisticated as the General of Shin-ra's army.

Sephiroth sheathed Masamune, now within reasonably safe grounds, and glanced about for the nearest lodging. Shin-ra would probably stick him in a sty. Tilting his head, Sephiroth thought back to Cloud's earlier comment: 'Nibelhiem. That's where I'm from.' Hometown. _Do I have one? Or is one such as I not meant for a place called home?_

"How does it feel? It's your first time back to your hometown in a long time, right?" The silver-haired materia warrior glanced over at his subordinate. A strange feeling tugged at his heart, always prompted by the words 'hometown', 'family' and 'love'.

_What are these? What do they mean? They are but words; how can they hold such sway when armies themselves cannot? _Seeing the companionship of Zack and Cloud, the bond of friendship, the General flinched, his face dark with...what? Annoyance? Anger? Envy?

Slamming his hand down hard on the lid of the mind, Sephiroth continued, "So how does it feel?" His attempts at 'chit-chat' always lead to a feeling of inadequacy. With determination, he fumbled about for the words, "I wouldn't know because I don't have a hometown." Even as he spoke, the General regretted commenting on his own situation. It was like pointing an arrow at the topics he especially did not want to discuss.

With an expression of shock and embarrassment, Cloud looked through his visor at his superior. "Umm...What about your parents?" Pity leaked through his tone.

Parents. Mother. Father. Those who give you life and raise you. None of this had any meaning for the knowledgeable and brilliant military officer. For one who knew so much about everything, he knew nothing about his own legacy. He had no parents to speak of; no home to call his own.

Sephiroth took care to sound indifferent, to mask the emptiness aching inside. "My mother is Jenova. She died right after she gave birth to me." The words came as if from a research paper, quoting facts not personal material. "My father..." He effected a laugh he did not feel. "Oh, what does it matter?...Let's go."

The stench of Mako flowed in from the Nibel Mountain, causing the General to wrinkle his nose in disgust. How could these people stand living here? In such a mundane existence? He shrugged off the curiosity—it was of no import. "The Mako smell is pretty bad here." With a fluid motion, he faced his subordinates. "We leave for the reactor at dawn. Make sure you get to sleep early." He pointed at the second Shin-ra guard Dale, to indicate he was first watch. "All that we need is one lookout, so you others get some rest."

Pivoting on his heel, he half-turned to gesture to the miserable little town. "Oh, that's right. You may visit your family and friends." With that hung in the air as an afterthought, Sephiroth swung open the door and swept inside the Nibelhiem Inn.

Like the rest of town, the drab inn could never be sufficient for his stature. Maybe a handful of rooms with a small lobby. A black-haired martial arts man named Zangan awoke the sleeping innkeeper for Sephiroth. He snapped his fingers and the owner straightened as if his spine were a sword. "Ah, yes, Sephiroth...General Sephiroth—lovely day, isn't it?"

It had rained all last night and midway into the following day. The mud still caked his cloak and silver hair. The sun hung dim in the clouded sky, threatening to release another torrent of rain. Lovely day it wasn't. "No, it's terrible." As if that statement matched his mood—which it did—the innkeeper blanched. "I need two rooms. One for myself and a second for my "

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"

Slowly sliding Eskallanilna out of his sheath, Sephiroth laid it on counter. If the man was looking ill before now might have just died of cardiac arrest. The sight of Masamune often turned a person's blood to ice. "While you're at it, take care not to alert the residents of Nibelhiem of my arrival, alright? I don't want to be disturbed."

When it appeared that the innkeeper might lose control over his body functions, the blade vanished to be sheathed at Sephiroth's hip. Whipping about his black trench cloak, the General headed upstairs. Passing the hallway, he halted at the center window. Outside, the scene of a young boy running around a group of larger boys came to eyes. He fully intended to move on but something about the boy's distressed look cemented him to the spot.

From the looks of it, the bigger boys had the young child's hat. Whenever the little boy reached the one holding his hat, that boy threw it to another. And so on. It didn't take long for the small boy to cry while the older boys looked on laughing. Sephiroth's heart swelled to anger, though he could hardly tell why. He didn't know why to a lot of things these days.

Where had all the time gone? Why did this child's pain matter? It had been years since anyone dared hurt him that way...He had grown strong, raised with a sword in his hand as soon as he could walk. Yet, the sight of the boy's suffering brought all the hurtful memories back, made the pain all that more real.

His hand clenched over the Masamune...A single few slashes wold end the disgraceful scene...

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

Zack. He had that annoying habit of human touch. Sephiroth shrugged him off. He felt no ill will toward Zack but the boy tried his patience. After losing a good commander in Terence, the General had hoped that the nephew would meet up to his uncle's shoes. Clearly that was not the case. His lips twisted. He missed his first officer, the nearest thing he had to a friend.

With a sharp intake of breath, he answered, eyes on the boys still. "This scenery...I feel like I know this place..." _Jenova. Mother. Home._ Sephiroth regained control quickly. "We have an early start tomorrow. You should get some sleep."

Zack pouted, "It's still early."

Turning on an angle, the silver-haired warrior set off for his quarters. "I'm not going to get you up tomorrow."

"Ah, yeah, let's get some sleep," Zack gulped.

"I've hired a guide to the Mako Reactor. I've heard she's young." Sephiroth shrugged delicately. "I hope we can rely on her."

_Sephiroth, my son..._

_"Mother? Are you Mother?"_

_Yes, my beloved child._

_"Where are you? Why did you die? Why did you leave me?"_

_It's them, Sephiroth. The humans._

_"Them? Humans? Am I not human?"_

_You're so much more...Please, find me._

_"How do I find you? Where did you go?"_

_Nibel Mountains, my son. Free me._

_"I'm coming, Mother!"_

_You are the rightful heir to the planet! Destroy those who would oppose you!_

_Before him, the image of scientists scurrying about a beautiful female humanoid. Cruelly they jabbed needles into the pale blue flesh, seared her with sharp fluorescent light and tortured the lovely creature. With a howl of rage, Sephiroth bolted from bed, eyes flashing. With all his strength and anger he snatched up Eskallanilna and hurled the sword at the reprehensible scene. _

_Like glass, the image shattered..._

In a panic Sephiroth awoke, consciousness crashing in him. He lay upon the floor, tangled in blankets, sweat dripping from his forehead. A dream. It had to be a dream. Not foreshadowing of any kind. Breathing heavily, the General looked up to the door.

The blood in his veins stopped when he saw Masamune imbedded to the hilt.

I_ threw it...The image...It had been so real..._Maybe it was. A view into the past? A terrible omen of the future?

A knock upon on the door. Sephiroth dressed himself with military efficiency. "Who is it?"

Muffled laughter. "Zack . First SOLDIER. You said you wouldn't wake me, so I woke myself. It's so late, I'd thought it best to check up on you. Guess I'm not the one who needs a wake-up call, eh?"

With a delicious cruelty, the General quickly ripped out the blade. His subordinate must have leapt three feet in the air, to judge by the sound of his abrupt landing. "I've been awake for hours," he lied, savoring his little victory. Sephiroth didn't like the insolent tone or manner of Zack. "I've been speaking to the President of Shin-ra..." _That should straighten his spine ... _"And seeing as we have so little time left, we leave immediately for the Nibel Mountains."

That sent Zack scurrying off to gather his belongings.

By the time Sephiroth arrived at the gate to the Shin-ra Mansion, only Zack had yet to appear. Within seconds the First SOLDIER came scampering out of the inn. It was with a severe annoyance that the General noted the town's citizens and pathetic media had conglomerated, eager to catch a glimpse, word, or picture of the Legend of the Wutain War himself.

Holding his sword aloft, a visible warning to all around to keep their distance, he addressed his warriors. "Once the guide gets here, we're heading out." An audible groan of disappointment accompanied the declaration. Sephiroth ignored it. He hated the masses, as fickle and single-minded as they were.

_That damn innkeeper! Doesn't he know the difference between _no one_ and _everyone_?_

Fortunately for Sephiroth, the guide materialized through the fog. A lovely young woman of no more than fifteen. She wore a plain white tank top with an excessively small brown skirt. Much to the General's irritation, she sported a cowboy hat over her rich brown hair that shadowed her coffee-colored eyes. Before the guide could introduce herself, her father stepped forward, his voice cold as he spoke, "Listen to me, Sephiroth. In case something happens..."

Sephiroth cut in, not wasting any time on the man's nonsense. "...Trust me." That didn't seem to satisfy him but his daughter added force with a few words of her own. Once he relented, she turned to the General and brightly said, "I'm Tifa. Nice to meet you."

For the last few minutes Zack had been fidgeting beside his superior. His ice-blue eyes gleamed at her name and he blurted out, "Tifa! You're our guide?"

Clearly the two knew each other, though to what extent, the General couldn't tell. Tifa responded in enthusiasm, nodding her head. "That's right. I just happen to be the number one guide in this town."

Sephiroth fully intended for that to be the end of the discourse but Zack wouldn't let it go. "It's too dangerous. I can't involve you in something like this."

_I haven't time for this lover's quarrel. _Having never actually seen a 'lover's quarrel' before, Sephiroth couldn't be certain that this qualified. He nipped the impending disaster in the bud. "Then there's no problem if you protect her. Let's go." In a dramatic swirl meant to be an exit, the General started off for the mountains.

People. The stupidest creatures alive. Too fickle. Too cheery...

"Umm...Mr. Sephiroth?"

Too annoying. "Yes?" he snapped, clipping impatience.

"Please let me take _one_ picture for a memento..."

Rolling his eyes, Sephiroth thought: what's one picture? Then his beautiful green eyes spanned the dozens of would-be photographers. The entire citizenry of Nibelhiem waited in eager anticipation. They _all_ wanted a turn to photograph him...

One? Hardly... "Oh...No..."

In the end, for time constraints (and Sephiroth's evaporating patience), the masses agreed to purchase copies of his portrait at a Shin-ra discounted price. The first man who'd asked would make a minor profit and the rest would go to the Weapons Department at Midgar. Zack proudly walked over for the picture, perhaps ecstatic about having his face on a portrait with his hero. Tifa hurriedly followed, cheeks flushed with the thrill of being between two prestigious SOLDIERs; one, her childhood friend and the other, Midgar's highest-ranking military officer.

_Humor them, Sephiroth. If you appease them it'll make the 'pleasantries' go faster. _He always cringed at the usual socialization that common folk engaged in. He was alone in a crowd; the greatest warrior on the face of the Planet who'd never frequented pubs or even dated. As sad as it was, Terence had been the closet thing he had to a...friend.

His death had been unexpected. His First Officer had been overseeing the submission of an uprising at North Corel at the time of an accident. One of the rebels activated a mako reactor in an attempt to disarm it. Terence had struggled with the man and both fell into a steaming pond of mako. The insurrectionist had perished instantly. Sephiroth's right hand man survived briefly, but within days contracted mako poisoning. As a last dying wish he asked Sephiroth to accompany Zack on Mission Nibelhiem.

_And now here I am. What an utter waste of my time. _But far be it from Sephiroth to deny a last request from the only 'friend' he'd ever had.

Sharp as daggers, the wind pierced the two Shin-ra Guards, the SOLDIERs and their guide. Before them, the bridge, a rickety assembly of decrepit boards and rotten rope, swayed about them in the wind. Snow fluttered up from the ground, whirling around as crystalline entities to impair their vision. Sephiroth had pushed the group hard so that, mid-day, the third of the journey was literally behind them. The cold could eat into the marrow of bones but he refrained from complaining. No productiveness could result from lamenting that which cannot be changed.

Nor was it a good example for his subordinates.

A feeling of intense De Ja Vu overcame Sephiroth as he stepped on the bridge. He hated bridges, the memory of the ambush at the Wutain bridge fresh in his mind though years old. Again, nothing could be done about it, so the Midgarian plunged on ahead. Tifa proceeded next, instructing Zack to follow her with the guards to take up the rear.

Three-fourth's of the way across the bridge shook violently. Tifa yelled, "Uh...The bridge!" In the middle the boards, having long been in disrepair, collapsed and the three stumbled as it shattered altogether. Sephiroth whipped about to try to activate a materia on his blade. His speed was not enough. As he fell, the General caught a glimpse of Dale unleashing the rope at the ends.

When Sephiroth came to, his eyes followed the length of a blade that had been leveled at his heart. The blade of Masamune.

"I wouldn't move if I were you."

Dale. His insignificant subordinate held him hostage. Him, the great General, hostage at sword point with his own blade! Had his life not been in imminent danger, the silver-haired warrior might have laughed.

"Fool! What do you hope to accomplish?" His sharp green eyes didn't waver from those of the Shin-ra guards'_. Wait for an opening. He cannot hold Eskallanilna for long. The Mako inherent to the steel and hilt will burn his flesh. _

"Retribution. I'm taking you hostage, Sephiroth."

Such a ridiculous notion did make Sephiroth laugh—though with a brief chuckle. His lips curled in disgust. "Hostage? You _must_ be joking."

Dale smiled the grin of a wolf, poking his 'hostage' painfully in the ribs. Involuntarily, the General winced. "Never been so serious in my life." He fished about in his pocket for a moment, then removed a PHS which he promptly tossed in Sephiroth's lap. "Get on the line with your damn President. Tell him to order the withdrawal of troops from North Corel. As well, I want immediate financial aid for the village of Gongaga."

"You _are_ joking! President Shin-ra would never agree to those terms." He barked laughter without mirth. "You might as well kill me now for I refuse to submit to be your prisoner, anyway."

His face darkening, Dale pressed the blade against the Senior SOLDIER's breastbone, piercing the clothes. Had Sephiroth not ceased breathing, a hole the size of Masemune's width would be in his chest. His former subordinate chuckled cruelly. "Noble until the end, eh? You make me sick, you dog of Shin-ra. Your commander killed my brother!"

_My commander...Terence...He's talking about the man who fought against Terence. _

"You're nothing more than a tool, a weapon without a soul. Like an assassin you kill without thought. You're inhuman!"

"_Freak...Weirdo..."_

"_Monster...Murderer..."_

"Not human...Not like the others..." 

"..._Inhuman..."_

A scream of rage erupted from Sephiroth's lips. Like a demon consumed his soul and burned in his eyes, he rolled out of path of Eskallanilna. Normally it would have pierced flesh and bone—his flesh and bone—but it retracted as if with a mind of its own. Dale squealed as the sword wrenched from his grip of its own accord. Grabbing the man, Sephiroth slammed him against the rockface. His hands flew up to Dale's neck and the former subordinate gasped for air, pleaded for mercy but the General was quite beyond hearing, quite beyond mad.

When Dale fell limp and Sephiroth's hands tired, the Head of SOLDIER dropped the body. Aquamarine eyes flashing, he slumped against the hard stone of the cliff. His gaze focused inward. His hand lowered to Masamune, heat emanating from the steel and reassuring him. He clasped it gratefully, like a mother, or a sister or a lover—neither of which he actually had.

Suddenly he felt cold. Terribly cold as if the life had fled not just Dale but him as well. _I killed him...I killed—to protect myself...To protect Shin-ra..._

_To protect your mother...To complete your mission..._

"Yes..."

"Ah, General?"

His head snapped up. From beneath the shadow of the mountain stood Cloud, his expression anxious. His gaze kept straying to the body of Dale, twisted like a discarded toy. Awareness awoke in Sephiroth. The body...Cloud would tell...He must kill Cloud He—No, he could lie. It was a long fall. Dale died from that. Not him.

"He...fell."

Cloud's nod made Sephiroth breath easier. "Ah, Tifa and Zack are on the other side of mountain. Shouldn't we go..."

"Yes!" He spoke entirely too loud and too quickly, but the guard didn't seem to notice. Cloud bounded up the boulder in their path and started off. With nary a glance back, the General followed in his wake. He blocked the emotion of having killed Dale. Elation? Sorrow? Anger? Who could tell—certainly not he...

Zack and Tifa awoke to the sound of boots crunching the hard-packed snow. The former helped the latter to her feet. Tifa blushing, thanking him. Before anything unwanted happened, the General stepped forward and announced, "Everyone seems to be alright. Can we get back to where we were?" After the horrid experience with Dale he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Dusting off her skirt, the guide supplied, "These caves are intertwined, just like an ant farm. Oh and there seems to be one person missing..."

Sephiroth frowned, hoping no one would bring up that subject though he supposed there was no helping it. "It may seem cold, but we've got no time to search for him." Cloud looked curiously at his superior during the word 'search'. The General hurried on. "We can't go back now, so we must go on." With a gloved hand, Sephiroth gestured for Tifa to lead the way. From now on, he would not trust her judgement on bridges.

They proceeded for some time into the mid-day. Sephiroth continued to make short work of the opposing monsters. Zack joined in the various battles but merely for show. His participation did not really alter the outcome of the many melees. His materia, purple preemptive, helped the General detect approaching creatures. Still, unarmed and half-asleep, the silver-haired warrior could destroy his opponents without breaking a sweat.

Enormous chunks of ice crushed four monsters that emulated giant grasshoppers. Flames burst into the chests of three violet breasts with tentacles. Still other creatures too, felt his wrath, burned to blackness by searing bolts of white-blue lightning. Whole groups of creatures fell to Sephiroth's power. At that rate, it didn't take long for the remaining four to reach the Mako Reactor directly in their path.

"We finally made it. We took the long way though."

Sephiroth's thoughts exactly. His slanted green eyes trailed over to the guide. The chill of Mont. Nibel settled into his bones until it seemed to take residence in their marrow. Zack hopped from foot to foot to stave off the cold and Tifa breathed into her hands. Cloud just stood, ice-white, not moving an inch. His gaze returned to the structure before them.

Certainly he'd laid eyes on more elite edifices. The Nibel Mako Reactor stood about thirty feet high, with a copper-colored steel walkway. The logo of Shin-ra Incorporated had been attached to the dome, the lettering peeling from the crimson sign. Several steel pipes extended from the center to drive into the frozen ground like the legs of a spider.

Sephiroth breathed. This entire mission had not been 'down time' as he'd hoped. The General would compose a brief report about the details of the operation, leaving it strictly to facts. In it, he would note the date the mission had been completed, the gil required, the solution necessary for the Mako malfunction. Nothing about his attempted assassination, Dale's subsequent death or his raging emotions of doubt, fatigue and frustration.

At least it would be over soon. He could forget about Nibelhiem.

"Tifa, wait here," Zack was saying, though the General barely registered the words. He flung back his long black cloak that rippled as melted midnight. He reached halfway up the steps when the guide protested.

"I'm going inside, too!" She tapped her foot childishly. "I wanna see!"

Sephiroth shook his head. _I should have known better than to trust someone so young. Most people of that age are not mature. Imagine what she'll feel when she finds out the world is a terrible place out there. _The Wielder of Masamune had to admit he'd never been that naïve. Ever since Hojo had first struck him—and that was too long ago to remember—Sephiroth knew the complexities and cruelties of life.

_Ignorance is bliss, young lady. Better to know nothing than to know everything of Shin-ra. _"Only authorized personnel are allowed in. This place is full of Shin-ra's industrial secrets." He kept the tone polite but non-negotiable.

Tifa planted her feet forward as if the only ignorance she had was of not knowing when to quit. "But--!"

With a sigh of impatience, Sephiroth glanced over to Cloud. "Take care of the lady." He left it at that, proceeding up the copper-colored ramp into the mako reactor. Zack was hot on his heels.

Making his way through the myriad maze of bulkheads, cords and various gears, Sephiroth stared straight ahead. He wanted this mission over. Now. But it would be, soon. His beautiful hair, as pure as starlight, poured in tune to his quick steps. Overhead, his subordinate leapt from the boards to climb down a massive steel support beam. The General didn't wait for him, instead continuing onto the antechamber beyond.

The chamber gave him immediate pause. It was small—no more than a dozen feet across and high. Crimson lights shone down from above as if the room was awash with blood. A two-tiered staircase bisected the room. On both sides, blue pods had been mounted on elevated platforms into three rows, huge cords drawing green liquid from a connected chamber. And on that steel door the nameplate froze his heart.

J. E. N. O. V. A.

"My mother...?" In war, chaos reigned. Yet Sephiroth maintained his cool. His experience with learning to adapt would be much tested. He told himself it couldn't be anything relevant—just a bizarre coincidence. Retreating to the first level, the General watched Zack arrive, his usual cheery self. When he spotted the nameplate, the SOLDIER examined the door. Tugging fruitlessly at the handle, he said, "This is...Jenova, right? It won't open..."

Jenova. Just exactly what he so longed to forget...Sephiroth decidedly ignored the comment. Instead the General quickly swept his emerald eyes over the lower pods. He spotted a broken valve and gestured to the pod. "This is the reason for the malfunction. This part is broken. Zack, close the valve."

In a hurry Zack labored over the part, reconnecting the strained tubes. As he worked, Sephiroth's mind worked, too—in exhaustion over the swirling questions and horrid premonitions. What was in those pods? Why was 'it' in there? "...Why did it break...?" he asked no one in particular.

Again his heart iced over, as his eyes befell a creature floating in the pod's green liquid like a mantis in amber. It had harsh fangs and blue scales with a crown of thorns upon its head. Without any reason to assume, Sephiroth knew the creature had been human. He felt a strange kinship to it. And small wonder—he, himself had been prisoner once.

_I _must _be tired. I am in no way related to that hideous beast. _Still, Sephiroth could not dispel the unsettling feeling. His mind drifted off...

"_You're insane, to experiment on innocent children like that," snapped a teenaged Sephiroth, who stared at four sickly pods. "You won't ever do that to me! You won't!"_

_Hojo laughed a wicked sound like a witch. "You would never understand me, boy. The sheer brilliance of science to create and alter life. Ah, but you will come to understand all too well..."_

"_I think not. I want no part of what you're doing. I'll stay human, thank you."_

_Now the laughter had the professor bent over. He straightened a smug hate in his eyes. "You're not really different from them. But that is for another along, there's training to be done." _

Sephiroth shook his head, disgusted. That man was twisted, a soulless beast with no concern for human life. "Now I see, Hojo..." His eyes returned to the pods in Nibelhiem, a more advanced form than that which he'd ever seen. "But even this will never put you on the same level as Gast." At that moment, he dearly missed Gast. A professor who achieved greatness without resorting to such barbaric means.

From beside him, Zack lifted his black eyebrows in question. Sephiroth ordered his mind enough to rattle on. "This is a system that condenses and freezes Mako energy...Now," Straightening, the General addressed his subordinate fully. "What does mako do when it's further condensed?"

Zack did not expect the quiz and his face flushed. "Uh, umm...Oh, yeah. It become materia."

_Well, Terence's little nephew isn't entirely clueless after all. At least he can spew out words that have been drilled into his brain. _A smile slipped into his lips. _Now Sephiroth, be fair. No one is quite like you. _"Right. Normally," he said with a nod. "But Hojo put something else in there...Take a look."

A few minutes later his SOLDIER had stumbled to the floor on his bottom, face filled with horror. "What...What is this?"

Sephiroth nodded, affirming his own suspicions. Something peculiar was happening here and while he suspected Hojo was behind it, the General could formulate no clue as to what the sick little man had designed. A hand cupped his head thoughtfully. "Normal members of SOLDIER are humans showered with Mako." His green-as-lifestream eyes flittered over to the rising Zack. "You're different from the others but still human." Even when he said that he did not know what he meant...as if Zack was separate from himself; as if, he, too, was a member of those creatures...It had been a natural conclusion to make...but ridiculous...simply not possible...right?

"They've been exposed to a high degree of mako far more than anyone else. But what are they?" he asked, interested in Zack's view on the uncanny situation.

Zack responded with a question of his own. "...Is this some kind of a monster?"

"Exactly. And it's Hojo of Shin-ra that produced these monsters." The memory of his childhood watching the torture of a young brown-haired mother constricted his chest. Monsters. Shin-ra was producing monsters...But why? "Mutated living organisms produced by Mako energy. That's what these monsters really are."

Suddenly his First SOLDIER started. He did a double take, as if rethinking something his superior had mentioned. "Normal members of SOLDIER? You mean you're different?"

"_You're not really different from them."_

"_You...are not of this world...who are you?"_

"_You're inhuman!"_

"_You will come to understand all too well."_

"_You're different from the others, but still human."_

Different. Jenova. Not human. His mother—not human. Him—not human...Not human? _I'm...not human? Who am I? What am I? _"No...No..." he whispered, stricken. He staggered backwards against the pod. As if to deny the horrible revelation, the General trembled violently to hurl the awful thoughts right out of his head. But they refused to leave, firmly implanted like it was a very logical conclusion to draw.

At least the pieces of his life were coming together...Or were they falling apart?

A hand came up to grip his forehead and his beautiful eyes squinted as if pained. Not normal. Never been normal...No. He...He wasn't like those horrific creatures...was he?

"Hey...Sephiroth?"

Zack might as well have not spoken, for his superior did not hear him. All background noise faded; leaving only a trail of lies, secrecy and deception before the General. Vicious tremors seized Sephiroth. Of course! That's why he'd been so alienated—because he was an alien!

His eyes opened, like the empty depths of a mako river, to pan the antechamber. Jenova. His mother. The revelation was singularly horrifying. His voice came as if from another realm, a place of despair, "....Was I...?" Rage surged through him like flames. Masamune begged to be released and he answered, unleashing the six-foot blade. Whipping it around with hate composed of fear, the Midgarian slashed at the pod he'd formerly viewed. It resisted quite nicely. Again. And again he attacked, anger pent from decades long abuse coming to surface at last.

Seeing his leader's fit of fury (and not desiring said fury's path) Zack leapt backwards to land on the lower tier. He witnessed the utter breakdown of the great materia warrior, the legend of the Wutian War.

Anger burst in Sephiroth's head so much it could drive normal people insane. But normal he was not. Clutching Eskallanilna tightly between his gloved hands, the General hacked at the pods on the left. That same pod had been the reason he'd come here in the first place. It yielded, much to Sephiroth's displeasure. That did not deter him, however, for he proceeded to strike the metal with steel. "...Was I created this way, too...?" He halted for a breath and a moment to glare at the hideous beast inside. "Am I the same as all these monsters?" The assault continued as if Sephiroth hoped to erase all evidence of the unbearable truth.

"Sephiroth..."

His own name hauled Sephiroth out of the madness he'd sunk into. Sword still in hand, though lowered, the General stepped aside to gaze at his subordinate. Zack's scared sapphire eyes met Sephiroth's own, a pair of blazing sockets filled with empty life. "You saw them!" he cried, a note below a scream. "All of them..." Now his voice faded, ragged, broken. "...were human..."

The SOLDIER braced, his words shaking with disbelief. "Human! No way!"

Human. No way. Not human. Never been human. Bitterness of his own naivete stung his throat, shined as tears in two emerald eyes. How foolish he'd been...How stupid! Hojo had tormented him. Kids shunned him. His caretakers couldn't care if he'd lived or died. Sephiroth mind floated back to his first day of 'school'. He'd hated it. The boys had been so cruel. They'd made it quite clear he'd never belong. An outcast. A misfit.

As a shield to the pain, a young Sephiroth pretended that he was outcast because he was special. In great adversity would come his ultimate triumph and that peace would finally come to his soul. A great purpose would show him his place in the world. And now, all those precious notions about himself shattered around Sephiroth.

"I'd always felt since I was small...that I was different from the others...Special, in some way...But not like this..."

In despair, Sephiroth shook his head and lowered it. He heaved a defeated sigh that seemed to last eternity. Here he was the most feared and revered man on the Planet and the Great General was reduced to these horrid creatures as 'siblings'. It made him sick to think about it. _Who am I? Am I really one of those nasty beasts? Am I not human? _

In such a state of breakdown Sephiroth was shocked back into reality again by the sound of a pod erupting. Blue metal flew everywhere. His whole body jerked halfways to see a scaled monster crawl out. Its screech seemed born of hell. Without thinking, Sephiroth touched a green materia and cast a fire spell. Gusts of flames incinerated the creature.

"Sephiroth...Uh, what do we do now?"

His voice as deceivingly placid as before, the General sheathed Eskallanilna and answered, "Fix the pod. We return to Nibelhiem immediately." As Zack hurried to the task, Sephiroth continued in the monotone. "It was told that Nibelhiem has a library at the Shin-ra Mansion and that there they housed scientific documents of Hojo and Gast...Is that true?"

Scratching his head, Zack confirmed, "Yeah. But what are you looking for?"

Sephiroth spoke while leaving the reactor. "Something long denied me: the truth."

_Vincent's cold laughter rang throughout the chamber. It sounded louder than it naturally should. Bats fluttered in the cramped corners. "The Truth. The words that carry so much weight...so much power that they can dictate the fate of nations. The words that can lift a man to salvation—or drag him down to his damnation."_

_"Damnation, indeed!" Luke's finger poked into the air as he bounced up and down. "I suspect the tale is about to get very interesting. How do you suppose he collected all the clues together enough to draw the conclusion that something was withheld from him in the Shin-ra Mansion?"_

_"Your guess is as good as mine."_

_"Oh, I doubt that. Come on, come on, Mr. Valentine. I'm sure there's some explanation creeping around in that dusty old mind of yours!"_

_Realizing exactly what he'd said, Luke bit down on his tongue. The former-Turk was an enigma, almost as much as Sephiroth himself. The scientist dare not offend Vincent, for fear not only that the man would clam up but also that his life would be forfeit._

_Fortunately, Vincent didn't seem anything more than annoyed. "There is by no means a way to be certain how that fortune—or misfortune—shone on Sephiroth that the clues would add up. If I were forced to venture a guess—" a frown to that, "I'd say that Jenova aided him in that respect. The sooner Sephiroth learned of her, the sooner her plan might see fruition." _

_"And, thus, the 'truth' came out. Or her conveniently altered version of It, anyway."_

_"Precisely."_


	8. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Through the Eyes of a Killer**

_La, la, la-la-la, la, la, la, la-la, la..._

_He, he, he...Ha, ha, ha..._

_Fog rolled up as unquiet spirits, childish singing accentuating the darkness with an adolescent vileness. Silly, that. For what epitomized innocence more than the carefree call of a child?_

_"Ow...that hurt. You hurt me."_

_La, la, la-la-la, la, la, la, la-la, la..._

_"Stop, that really hurts! Stop NOW!"_

_The not-so-innocent chanting wound itself about the endless space, creating a backdrop of noise. As if a person blew lightly, the mist parted ever so slowly, revealing a scene of commonplace. A circle of six boys entrapping a younger, smaller child of silver hair. At first, they'd tossed his hat counter-clock wise several times, but it transformed into a stone. Many stones. All hurled at the little boy who crouched to deflect them._

_One struck his shoulder. Blood trickled down. Another. Still another. "Stop this now!" he screamed to no avail._

_The half-laughter, half-chant intensified. Like wolves sensing the tiring of a maimed deer, the group of boys tossed an endless stream of stones. His shriek tore the void of nothingness open, ripping a vortex in the air. A weapon. He needed a weapon...or a knife...or a sword..._

_From the vortex the young boy withdrew a shiny blade of diamond hilt and mako-steel. Eskallinalina...How he knew the name, could not be told. Its miraculous appearance meant nothing now. The silver-haired lad had a weapon and the hatred with which to use it. _

_Like decapitated candlesticks, the boys fell to their former victim's smooth slashes. But even as they exploded into gruesome displays of guts, their bodies reanimated into blue-scaled creatures. That prompted the boy to scream, unleashing magic inherent to the blade. It had not occurred to him that he'd matured rapidly—a young man of steel-colored hair and gleaming green eyes. The flames, hot-as-hell, consumed the mako-twisted beasts on impact. _

_Yet, even that did not deter them for long. After the fire died down, the remaining charred appendages coalesced into one massive creature. An eight-legged monstrosity as a gargoyle at night. Its eyes snared the young man—its gaze seemed to drain his life-force._

_A scream—his scream—erupted as the creature gave chase. His thoughts alone of escape, the young man fled through the nothingness. Ran and yet moved not at all. The air slowed his movement, made him sluggish, incapable of mere walking. In his haste, he slipped and fell on his sword, blade plunging his chest. Blood gushed. Ah, the pain..._

_...The pain...What pain?..._

...No pain...

Some pain. Just a little. A tug into his side. Grunting, Sephiroth awoke. He grimaced at the book he'd unintentionally used as pillow that now lodged into his gut. Irritably, the silver-haired general shoved it aside. His strength always beyond normal parameters, the book crashed into a pile of primers, destroying it like a collapsed house of cards.

Then Sephiroth cursed himself for his stupidity. After all, the Midgarian had spent the better part of an hour assembling that pile.

Two gloved hands rubbed his face in exhaustion. His back ached, his legs needed a good stretch—his entire body suffered from the neglect. No exercise for days. Neither did he take food or water. The self-abuse affected his features, rending them wan and bony. Not that it mattered. No, the young war veteran no longer cared for his appearance...not like anyone would see him inside these walls, anyway.

His great need to know the answers to his past imprisoned Sephiroth within these gray, bookshelf lined walls. Truthfully, he could depart at any time that suited his fancy. Yet, here Sephiroth was constrained by means beyond normal mortal comprehension. A fierce desire blazed within. No more lies. No more secrets. The truth, here, now.

Shivering from the dampness of the cold stone floor, Sephiroth hauled his ebony cloak about his person, beautiful starlight shaded hair falling over his shoulders. His emerald eyes squinted shut.

A few days ago the master materia-wielder journeyed with his subordinates for an inspection of a mako reactor. A simple, insignificant task. Yet, that mission had initiated this very search—the search for his identity. Why did he know so much of everything, everyone and yet nothing of himself? Why such mystery to simple questions: his father's name and whereabouts, his mother's fate, his creation? The mission had been completed successfully, yet had left him shattered.

The experience had left him wanting—left him with more questions than answers. Like a wound that festered over rather than healed the problem lurked in the back of his mind. Now like that fester burst open, the blood flowed, and with it, the curiosity of his origins. So long without answers and now here they were, concealed among manuscripts. Many mounds of manuscripts. If only he could find it...

With a despaired sigh, the black-cloaked general rose to his feet and paced about the cramped room, coming to a stop beside the late Gast's desk. The professor's concept of tidiness left much to be desired with a number of Midgar Telegram clippings and an assortment of multi-colored pens scattered on the wood. From the looks of it, he'd attempted some semblance of organization with the bookshelves only to abandon the venture less than a row later on. His failure to continue lead to Sephiroth's ceaseless frustration.

_I could spend the rest of my days here and not find the answers that I seek..._

Had he been able, Sephiroth might have shed a few tears. But that emotion was dead, lying in the ruins of his past abuse, war and suffering. Now all that remained was lump of cold steel, a tool...a weapon...

_"...A soulless assassin..."_

"No," he whispered, hands tightly clenched. "I _am_ something more. I _am_ a human being. I _do_ have a soul. More's the pity for those who can not see it." Despite his status as a public icon pursued mercilessly by the Midgar Press, the outside world observed only a superficial Sephiroth, never allowed within the true confines of his mind.

Selecting a random brown-spine book from the dismantled pile, Sephiroth scanned it with alarming speed. Nothing of value. Another. Still, worthless. In his building frustration the SOLDIER hurled a dozen primers off a decrepit bookcase, sending them crashing to the floor.

Violence always afforded the general the release his wrenched heart desperately sought. Another reason few ever witnessed the true Sephiroth—they would never live to tell about it.

After another fruitless hour, he slumped into Gast's chair. Was the general never to have the answer he so sought? Due to a seven-year old Sephiroth's persistence, the professor considered expounding on the boy's history. He'd held off before, insisting that the truth might shatter him. Hojo claimed a heart attack befell the professor but the situation seemed suspicious since Gast planned to tell Sephiroth his origins that same day. Nor would Hojo relinquish any information. The general knew better than to try.

His face dropped into his hands. Despaired. _Stop. There's no reason any more. I must simply resign myself to the cold hard fact that I will never know. Perhaps I'm not even meant to know. I should leave now and forget this place..._

Indeed, such was the general's intention. Gathering his belongings—cloak and sword—Sephiroth hurried from the private library, stepping into the connecting hallway. Along these walls, too, Gast had erected bookshelves and bookcases, occupied by a disproportionate amount of manuscripts, small and large. To be away from his mission brought mixed relief and disgust. Quitting was not the general's foray but only a fool continues on with no reprieve in sight.

His walk was cut short. A book, jammed on a shelf containing more than its share of primers, fell directly in his path. With a sigh, Sephiroth snatched it from the floor and began to prop it against its kin. Then his eyes grazed the cover, freezing his blood with the single word inscribed upon it.

J.E.N.O.V.A.

"...Mother?" Sephiroth gasped.

_Yes. Read my son._

"Yes, mother."

Entranced like the fly in the proverbial spider's web, the young war veteran retreated to Gast's private study and sat down at his desk. Part of him longed to tear the pages apart to suck the vital information out. The analytical part of his brain cautioned wisdom, to relax and digest the text slowly. He mustn't read too fast and overlook any significant detail.

Details did not make themselves readily evident. A man of action, Sephiroth abhorred to remain seated. And in this moment of frantic need, he climbed to his feet again. Balancing the book with a single hand, the general circled the room, unconscious steps eating up the perimeter of the ill-lit inner library as his mind feasted on the information.

So absorbed, Sephiroth didn't even notice a blue-garbed guard peer in, hovering by the door. In fact, the entire world might have vanished beneath him for all the Wutai war-hero knew. First, he spoke the text only in his head, then as the general continued reading, those thoughts flooded from his lips, a surge of emotion.

"...An organism, Jenova..."

_Jenova...my mother?_

"...Year 2561, Month 4, Day 5...Jenova confirmed to be an Ancient..."

_Ancient...A Cetra?_

"...Year 2561, Month 7, Day 6...Jenova project approved. The use of Mako Reactor 1 approved for use..."

_...Jenova...Ancient...Mako Reactor..._

Was there some common denominator?

Sephiroth's heart hammered almost threatening to rip free of his chest. His pace became more fevered with each word that passed by the warrior's lovely green eyes. Coming to an abrupt halt, Sephiroth raised a hand to his face, sick with all the rampaging thoughts. Then his otherworldly eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if mako inherent to them was as acid to burn away the brick and into the sky.

"My mother's name is Jenova. Jenova Project. Is this just a coincidence?"

His beautiful gaze floated to the stone floor, strewn with books. Softly Sephiroth's voice echoed as if through the end of time. "Professor Gast...Why didn't you tell me anything? Why did you die?"

_Shuffle...scuttle..._

Like a hawk, Sephiroth snapped to attention. Someone invaded his privacy and had monitored his progress. It reminded the general vividly and horrifically, of a childhood full of cruel watchful eyes. Straps to restrain. Drugs to subdue. One-way doors to imprison him. Even now, Sephiroth felt them observing him, smothering him. Others had called him paranoid. But what did they know? What did _any_ of them know?

_Read on, my son. _

Jolted awake as if from the affects of cold water, the silver-haired warrior returned to his personal mission. No need to bother with the insects. He would deal with them later. With a hurried air, Sephiroth flipped through the scientific jargon and cut to the meat of the matter. Jenova. Cetra. Mako. Materia. Project SOLDIER. Specimen Sephiroth. Mako-Enhanced. Jenova-Cells...

Jaw unhinged, Sephiroth reread the section concerning his name. What he read filled him with unspeakable rage, horror and grief.

_Professor Gast, Shin-ra Science Department: Due to the creature's inability to reproduce naturally the team has opted to manufacture a tube in which to artificially produce an organism through only her cells...This creation process is the first of its kind....Approved by the Shin-ra. We now have the funding to proceed...With the Cetra blood and extensive Mako infusions the specimen will have enhanced statistics...Project successful...We have a specimen that bears a striking resemblance to its 'mother'...and the one that was produced was called—_

"—Sephiroth," the warrior whispered, speaking as he read.

His initial reaction was to stumble to his knees, the book crashing to the stone floor. The second prompted him to tremble, far beyond that of his anxiety attack at the Nibel Mako Reactor. Within mere minutes the proud, revered war hero and most feared man on the Planet screamed viciously. It tore from his throat as a live animal struggling to escape and it lasted a godly long time.

When the distraught general looked up his eyes glowed: hate, insanity, fear, pain...murder...

"Those worthless creatures, those miserable humans!" His voice shook from rage. Climbing to his weary feet, Sephiroth slumped against a wall. That voice broke, broken shards of despair, "Why? Why me! What have I done to be treated in such a manner! Am I really a soulless assassin, a man with no destiny? Will I be cast aside, string's cut, when I've outlived my usefulness?"

Devastated, the master materia-wielder slid down as if from under the weight of his discovery. Gast had been right. The knowledge had tore his world asunder. "Am I not even a person!? Am I the same as all these jars of god-knows-what? The same as all those...monsters...at the reactor...?"

That thought, of kinship to the blue-scaled creatures, was singularly horrifying.

A voice droned in his head, the one that had been with him all these many lonely years. _Yes, my beloved son. They used you. They used me. Our race was annihilated while the humans sat back and stole our Planet! You are the last. Rescue me from these evil, pitiful humans. Together, we'll take back the Planet for the Cetra. And, you my son, Sephiroth...You and I will rule over the Promised Land..._

The horror vanished. In its place, a sweet serenity poured into his soul. As with the moment of claiming the Masemune, Sephiroth experienced belonging, fulfillment. Of course...it all made sense now. He was created for their...experiment. They slaughtered his race then forced him into existence and servitude. The fury burned the general's chest. One hand tightened around Eskallanilna's hilt as his lifestream-green eyes glittered.

_They tried to keep you down, to make you their puppet. Cut the strings! Show them the puppet they created has a mind of its own..._

Like an inebriated man drowning in the rapture of power, Sephiroth surrendered to the wonderful voice and her love. They said he talked to walls, to himself. They thought knew everything. _Pitiful humans! They know nothing! I will take back the planet, mother! _Akin shattering glass, his beautiful voice rose in victorious laughter. A shrieking, joyous sound. A sound that had the usually stoic general bent over the table in the mirth of the moment hinted with madness. His sides hurt damnably. Gasping for breath, Sephiroth sat down.

Despite his maniacal laughter and distracted condition, the Midgarian easily heard when one of his SOLDIERs entered. Human. Humph. What did he expect? His mako eyes clouded over, smoldering with anger. "Who is it!?" he demanded, hand lingering over the Masemune.

Zack. Sephiroth could see him quite clearly now. The young Gongaga recruit cast a glance about as if expecting to be attacked. Would serve him right, thought Sephiroth. Still, the young boy was nothing more than a pawn, a fool in the human's game of playing with life. Hardly worthy of his anger. That would come, later. "Humph. Traitor."

As a salmon trapped on a line, the black-haired man shook. "Traitor?"

With a superior air, Sephiroth rose loftily from the chair to face the wall. Hatred rushed in his blood. His voice cold as winter winds, the general spoke, "You ignorant traitor. I'll tell you." _Why should I even bother telling him? Clearly it is beyond his limited worldly experiences. He just sleeps under the blanket of freedom the Cetra provided him, neither knowing nor caring about their tragedy. _But the general feared he might erupt should he retain the secret any longer.

"This planet originally belonged to the Cetra. The Cetra were an itinerant race. They would migrate in, settle a planet, then move on..."

Having surrendered to the urge, the young war veteran lost all thoughts of his audience. Swept away in a past that was not even his...Ah, but that would soon be rectified...

"At the end of their harsh, hard journey they would find the Promised Land and supreme happiness."

Slowly, methodically, the general pivoted to stare coldly at Zack. His face radiated a fire that cut through the SOLDIER. "But, those that disliked the journey appeared. Those who stopped their migrations built shelters and elected to lead an easier life."

Hate building up in him, Sephiroth slammed a fist on the table. Gast's prodigious mess became even more chaotic as a dozen pens and pencils rained on the floor. "They took that which the Cetra and the Planet had made without giving one whit in return!"

He stabbed a finger at the young man. "Those were _your_ ancestors."

Shaken to the core, Zack attempted to stem the tide of fury he witnessed boiling within his superior. "Sephiroth..." he murmured.

He needn't have bothered. Eyes drifting to the floor, Sephiroth continued, whispering, "Long ago, disaster struck the planet." Slowly those glowing green orbs floated up to lock on Zacks'. "Your ancestors escaped...They survived because they hid.

"The Planet was saved by sacrificing the Cetra. After that, your ancestors continued to increase. Now all that's left of the Cetra is in these reports." His gloved fingers casually leafed the manuscripts strewn on Gast's desk.

"What does that have to do with you?"

His lips slit to a thin line. "Don't you get it?"

Zack indicated negative with a shake of his head.

Sighing, the Midgarian native gazed down the rows of books in the interconnected hallway. Books. So many books. Knowledge. Knowledge kept from him since childhood. That only served to fuel his rage. His voice trailed on. "An Ancient named Jenova was found in the geological stratum of 2000 years ago."

A hand lifted to stroke his chin, deeply troubled, sick of the tragedy that was the forgotten shard of history. "The Jenova project...The Jenova project wanted to produce people with the powers of the Ancients—No, Cetra."

Like a dying man's hand, Sephiroth's dropped.

"...I am the one that was produced."

"Pr...Produced?" gasped Zack.

Produced. Unloved. A puppet of the humans. Designed as their war machine. Their killing shadow. "Yes," he hissed. "Professor Gast, leader of the Jenova project and genius scientist produced me."

_Come to me, my son. Come..._

_Yes, mother._

_Exterminate the vermin. Heal the Planet by destroying the parasites that infest it. Quickly! There isn't much time. Soon they will find you, and your discovery. Please son, I love you..._

I love you. Such simple words. It takes so little to utter it and yet no one had ever made the effort to shower him with any affection. Why not? Why the hell not?

He took one step. Then another. A slow march down the dim hallway. Behind him, the SOLDIER sputtered, "How...how did he...?"

"Sephiroth...?"  
  
For a breath's span, the general halted. Halted long enough to whisper, "Out of my way—I'm going to see my mother."

Night muted the natural colors of mother earth to a somber tone of navy-black. Many stars shone this night, casting shadows upon the walls of the town's shabby housing. Leaves swirled as mini-tempests wreathing the gates of the Shin-ra Mansion, the winds picking up the cape of its single warden, a demon-angel observing a scene from his nightmares.

Here, humans lived and loved, not concerned with the welfare of a long-dead race or the crimes committed in their midst. Here, a circle of boys taunted a smaller child, throwing his hat out of reach just as he made a leap for it. The malicious game had the child in tears and yet that did not deter them. In fact, it served only to spur their cruelty.

The law of the strong devouring the weak. So his dream had come alive. He equated the scene with that of an imaginary image of the Cetra treated thusly. Badly outnumbered and debilitated the gentle race had been vanquished by humans even as they fought to save the world both inhabited. The humans stole the Planet and flaunted it, leaving the Cetra to die.

_Yes, it is tragic, my son. They thought themselves so clever, those humans did. They waited until the Cetra expended all their energy to salvage the world then pounced, taking it from them. Ah, but they made one fatal flaw. They made you. Show them the puppet has cut his strings!_

He gulped in the crisp cold air, eyes shimmering as pools of emerald rage. Hatred surged in his blood as Sephiroth lifted Masemune and stalked the...evil...boys. Like molten silver his hair flowed like his midnight-black cape making him appear as a fiend sent from the underworld. They stood no chance whatsoever. One. Two. Three. They all fell down.

Including the 'innocent' child.

Sephiroth halted, breathing heavily. Having been so focussed on purging the guilty he'd eliminated the innocent, too. Never before had the general murdered anyone not warranting it. Always the reason had been self-defense or the unfortunate wages of war.

_Don't waste your time on a human emotion like guilt! No human is innocent. All of them have sinned against us to some degree. Don't think, just kill! Look, here comes another to stop you!_

His mother spoke truly. Angered by the murder of their children, mothers flocked from their brick homes to sweep up the broken bodies or wept over them. Some screamed incoherently. Others sought to confront him, seeming as banshees with their tore clothes and broken voices.

One broke from the pack, directly intercepting him and leveling a hand to slap the general. Easily, Sephiroth snatched it mid-air and twisted the arm, shattering and rending it useless. She shrieked and struggled to strike him with her other hand. That, too, he disabled, disdaining to subdue her. Clearly the distraught woman meant him harm but damned would he be before Sephiroth let anyone stop him.

Whipping out Eskallinalna, the master swordsman plunged the blade into her chest, the tip erupting from her back. As crimson water, lifefluid spilt onto the cobblestone street as a stain that years itself could not erase. It was odd, but Sephiroth felt no shame or disgust, only a mild satisfaction as he dropped the body to lay next to that of her child.

In a systematic fashion, he wade through the throng of townsfolk, as more awoke from their homes to the awful screeching. Husbands. Wives. Children. Pets. It made no difference. All Sephiroth saw now was humans; evil, weak, pitiful humans. Foolishly they kept on coming, as insects challenging a god. Still, they beheld the shine of blood on his sword as testimony to his crimes as one they could not ignore. Soon, they too would become evidence as crimson upon the steel of the deadly Masemune.

Rapture. Sheer rapture. Sephiroth tossed back his wild head of molten hair in laughter. The fools, the humans. So stupid. In their avarice for power, they had bred him to near god-like status not realizing that one day he might lash out as his slavers with the very tools they'd crafted him to possess.

What goes around comes around and it was time the humans got theirs.

Eyes glittering, Sephiroth touched an emerald materia orb attached to the blade's hilt. With a shout the general unleashed the strongest fire spell he knew on the roofs of several nearby houses. Instantly, they caught aflame, enveloped in crimson rage, gleaming as the blood that ran through Nibelhiem's streets.

The citizens of Nibelhiem screamed and died. Some thought to hide but if the blade didn't reach them, the fires did. Others opted to stem the tide of flame with water from the town's well, but that only prompted Sephiroth to set the well itself ablaze. That made them yell louder, cursing and crying at the destruction.

Absorbed in the euphoria of his revenge, the screams barely registered in his mind. One of the townsfolk stupidly sought to take advantage of the carnage by looting a body. By the expression on his face, his head didn't know when it had separated from the neck. Another citizen morbidly decided to photograph the scene. Sephiroth recognized him as the same man who'd taken his picture earlier. Not that that small affiliation mattered. His abominable venture earned his place impaled on the general's sword.

A night of terror. A night of revenge.

_Estuans...Interius ...Ira...Vehementi..._

Ils eblade. Nae-lai de lai kaonration, Sephiroth...

_Excellent, _purred his mother_. No, wait, don't kill them all. Leave some as a reminder to the humans of your power. Let them shake in their fear like the cowards they truly are. Now come to me. Let none who opposes you stay your holy course!_

Lifted up into another world even as he burned this one, Sephiroth cut down two town guards dispatched to suppress him. The flamelight highlighted one side of his face while the other remained chill in shadow. He calmly surveyed the damage he'd wrecked, nodded his head in satisfaction and pivoted smoothly to walk straight through the flames.

The fires didn't touch him. They knew one of their own.

A voice, amidst the chaos, "Sephiroth...this is too terrible..."

His laughter haunted them all.

"Mother, I'm coming."

A distance that normally required days of travel, Sephiroth covered in a matter of hours. Having explored it earlier on his fateful quest to the reactor, the general's photographic memory served him well, detailing the swiftest routes in the minimal of time. He sidestepped the bridge, even though repairs had been attempted, since he would risk no second fall. Besides, the native of Midgar found other trails more satisfactory.

In no time at all, the odd shape of the reactor loomed, cutting out the moonlight and appearing as a dark and terrible fortress. Closer examination proved otherwise, of course, but Sephiroth treated the edifice as it were. Here, his search had begun. Here, it would end.

The sign of Shin-ra looked more careworn than ever, the paint barely lasting. A dozen pipes driven into the frozen ground continued to pump the life force out of the Planet, energy the humans taxed for their greed. A travesty he would rectify, as well.

Still, as Masemune's wielder gazed upon the structure, his thoughts drifted from a fortress strong to a beautiful temple. Within Sephiroth suffered his trials but as ore thrust into the blazing heat of tragedy he had emerged as sword, deadlier and stronger than ever.

A religious revival was at hand.

When he reached the reactor, Sephiroth hurried up the ramp. Tears of joy shined in his lifestream-green eyes. No, he could not surrender to them just now. Swallowing, the general thrust open the doors to the reactor and stepped in. Immediately, the orchestra of gears clicking, pipes groaning and the various apparatus functioning assaulted his ears, yet he might have been deaf. The stench of mako was nearly overwhelming to most, and still with Sephiroth it didn't register. Nor did the Wutain veteran see the platform beneath or the paint-chipped walls of the reactor.

His mind was blur. He heard nothing, smelt nothing, saw, felt, knew naught else.

Naught else but his mission.

"Hey, you, why the hell did you do that to the town!?"

Sephiroth ignored him.

"I knew you would bring disaster to our town! Why couldn't you stay away!?"

Sephiroth stopped, breathing heavily. Masemune's bloodied hilt glinted in the light.

"What the--! What kinda monster are--!"

The blade slicing a second mouth in his throat cut off whatever else the man had to say. Sephiroth watched morbidly as the body held suspended on his sword. Blood gushed onto the steel railing. Slowly, he perished but not before the general whispered, eyes glowing from the fluorescent ceiling light:

"I am the mortal enemy to the humans. I am Sephiroth, the heir to the Planet."

_Waste no more time, my beloved child! Come!_

The last word shrieked in the general's ear, prompting him drop the man in the sword and proceed to the chamber containing the pods. The man had an air of passing familiarity. The guide's...father? No matter. As a human, he deserved no better. All of them would be slain, to rise again and serve his mother. Yes, that sounded good, 'twas...justice.

Inside the inner chamber, the general felt he'd misplaced something. Well, if it didn't readily come to him, it couldn't be of too much importance. Flicking back his molten silver hair, Sephiroth dismissed it.

As before, blood-shade colored the walls, making it appear as if the general had wrecked his havoc here. With the exception of the one imploded pod, nothing had changed. And yet, for Sephiroth, it seemed he viewed the chamber for the first time. Shadows fell at different angles, light spilled where none had before...

J.E.N.O.V.A.

Anticipating washing over him, Sephiroth climbed the stairs. When he tugged at the handle to the door, however, it remained inaccessible. The general lifted his hands, imploring, "Mother, I'm here to see you. Please, open the door."

"How could you do that to the papa and the townspeople?!"

_That certainly wasn't Mother!_

No, not Mother. A young woman, about fifteen, raced up the stairs. Tifa, his former guide, he noted. Seeing the blade in her hand, Sephiroth realized what he'd forgotten—Eskallanilna. With a cry of rage, Tifa swung the blade directly at the general, intent on severing the head from his body.

The attack went wide. The girl's coffee-brown eyes widened with it, as the weapon defied her attempts to wield it. _Foolish girl. The Cetra spirit inherent in the blade knows one of its own. _Easily, Sephiroth wrenched Eskallanilna from her grip, reversing the stroke for a killing blow against her.

Tifa made little sound as the metal tore through her tiny frame. It shattered her sternum, blood gushing out as he whipped it around for a second shot, this sending her tumbling down the stairs. The body landed on the lowest platform.

A smile split his lips. _Just one less human the Planet has to worry about._

After kissing the bloody hilt reverently, Sephiroth resumed his efforts to open the door. This time, he met no resistance. It fell silently back, allowing the bizarre light of the chamber beyond to flood into the present room. Trembling with expectation, he forced himself to step past the threshold and look upon the face of his mother for the first time.

_Mother..._

The creature known as Jenova was quite a sight. Encased in a glass upright coffin, she floated in blue plasma up to her torso, wherein the rest had been concealed by an angelic-hybrid armor and a mask-helmet. Assembled in the shape of wings, blue-white fans spread out from her body and shining skull. And above her, stamped on a plague the name, _her_ name, Jenova.

Overwhelmed, Sephiroth nearly sank to his knees. Shaking his head, the general forced himself to remain on his feet, utilizing Masemune as a crutch. He mustn't lose control now even as the tears still threatened to fall. A glance upward told him that the only way to reach his mother happened to be a very unstable red cord. No matter. He happily sheathed his weapon and ascended.

Like a newborn staring at the world for the first time, Sephiroth gazed into her metallic face. His voice shivering with delight, he whispered, "Mother, let's take back the Planet together.

"I've thought of a great idea. Let's go to the Promised Land."

The sound of someone entering, of a murmured word, "Sephiroth..."

_Watch out, my son!_

Forewarned, Sephiroth dodged a blade leveled to impale his back. The sidestep confused his attacker, a young man with wild black hair, who fully expected to take the general by surprise. Sephiroth had mere moments to realize it was Zack, his former subordinate.

Correction, dead former subordinate, thought the Master swordsman as he gutted the SOLDIER. Zack heroically tried to retaliate but he was far outmatched, taking another stab to his ribs, the sheer power of Sephiroth sending him spinning into the room beyond. Even as the SOLDIER vanished, a Shin-ra guard entered. Shaken to the core at having to face this pillar of strength, the guard took a moment to gather his wits about him, ripping the helmet from his head to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"My family! My hometown! How could you do this to them!?"

Had Sephiroth so desired, the guard would be spitted on his sword. But the general didn't bother. Such a lowborn specimen didn't deserve his illustrious attention and thus Sephiroth ignored him. It did amuse Shin-ra's Head of SOLDIER however, that yet another human would seek to do _him_ harm. An endless string of humans come to stop him and his quest. Together he and his mother had declared a holy war against the humans, those that would oppose the Cetra. Now, they again sought to strike him down. As he laughed, the general's shoulders shook. "They've come again, Mother."

Without looking behind to see who it was, Sephiroth raised his hands to touch her face. The tears shone fiercer now, brimming, almost escaping. "With her superior power, knowledge, and magic, Mother was destined to become ruler of this Planet.

"But they...those worthless creatures...are stealing the planet from Mother...But I'm here with you now...so don't worry..."

Now his hands slid over to the plates connecting the armor to the structure. With a fell swoop, Sephiroth tore the upper half off, snapping wires and intricate machinery. After taking a moment to catch his breath and stamina, his head rose to examine the creature. The sight drew a gasp.

Tears, already brimming his beautiful eyes, did flow, slowly and gracefully. Before him, the image of his beloved mother. The body of blue-white flesh seemed to be frozen for centuries, as indicated by Gast's records. She had no legs to speak of. Veins, violet and green, lined her torso and even traced into her hairless head.

To anyone else it was the face of a monster; to him, the face of an angel.

Like honeyed wine, her voice dripped into his mind, refreshing and calming:

_You are the first...and the last. You are our heir, our survivor. Ave, Ils ebla Formostamsa, your ascension is at hand. Gloriousa, generosa. Come take me to the Promised Land!_

Though Sephiroth had dealt mercy instead of slaughter, the annoyance, known as Cloud, persisted. "What about MY sadness!? My family...my friends...The sadness of having my hometown taken from me!? It's the same as your sadness!"

Sadness? _Sadness?_ The laughter arched his back, stirring his obsidian cloak. Sephiroth had to bite down on the amusement, lifting Eskallanilna in warning. "...my sadness? What do I have to be sad about? _I _am the chosen one. _I_ have been chosen to be the leader of this Planet.

"I have orders to take back this Planet from you stupid people for the Cetra. What am I suppose to be sad about?"

_Silly humans and their emotions. Even if I had a reason to weep—and I don't, do I?—the only tears I'd shed shall be for joy now. How can a Cetra feel sorrow or pain? For so many years I've pondered why I was so apathetic to it all...and now I know. Why should I feel sadness when I am of a superior race? When I am destined to rule?_

Despaired, Cloud staggered back as if from under the weight of the revelation that Sephiroth was quite beyond reasoning, beyond mad. The chamber's pipes concealed his face beneath shadow. "Sephiroth...I trusted you..." His voice broke. Drawing upon inner fortitude, the guard raised his blade, looking like a kitchen knife in comparison to the majesty that was the Masemune. "No, you're not the Sephiroth I use to know!"

_You are so right about that, pitiful human. I am no longer a pawn. Come, let us end this charade! _A smile slipped into his lips. Gracefully, the master swordsman vaulted Masemune in the air, light dancing off the surface. Cloud shivered then lifted his own weapon. Their eyes, mako-green to sky-blue, absorbed each other, blurring and bending the image of reality.

When the Shin-ra guard attacked, Sephiroth was more than ready for him. Ducking the blow artfully, the general twisted on his feet, whipping out his blade to strike his opponent at the shoulder with the flat. The series of events flooded by so swiftly, poor Cloud barely knew what hit him.

Disgusted at the lack of challenge, which the general considered no more than swatting flies, Sephiroth returned to his moment of reunite with his beloved mother. So many humans determined to hold him down, to force slavery and heave insult upon him. The blood raged in his veins at the sheer thought of the audacity.

What...? What was his mother saying...? The mystical warrior had let himself become distracted...A warning...

And that warning came too little, too late. Sephiroth gagged as the blade entered his body, erupting from his mid-section. In his mind, Jenova shrieked at the travesty. The sword, Cloud's, felt as ice tearing in him, then as fire as the guard ripped it free. Masemune fell from nerveless hands, spilling onto the lower platform. Blood poured from the wound, and in an instant, the general knew it as the heart's life flooding out. If he didn't leave to nurse it, Sephiroth would die.

Stumbling down the platform, Sephiroth reclaimed his sword. He ignored Cloud completely—what revenge he'd thought to wreck delegated to secondary. Survival was paramount. Whispering a prayer and an apology to his mother, the warrior rushed from the chamber as fast as he could, each step leaving a bloody footprint.

No, no, no, no...How could a lowly human defeat a superior such as himself? He had not been paying attention and had paid with his indiscretion in the coinage of blood. A moan escaped Sephiroth's lips as he stumbled down the steel stairs, eyes burning with tears...tears of rage and pain. The hatred helped force his feet to proceed even when the bloodloss prompted dizziness and a bout of nausea.

The general reached the pod chamber's door and no farther. Here, the warrior must make his stand. Here, he might very well perish. Ah, the ultimate irony—to at long last unearth the question of his life, the nature of his origins, only to die within the hour of the discovery. After all, what good would knowledge do should he succumb to his injuries?

One hand drifted to that wound, attempting to stanch the flow of his life while the other clenched Eskallanlina tightly. His attempts did little good as blood continued its deadly rage, trickling into the mako-pool beneath the platform. Instantly the drops shriveled to nothingness long before striking the steaming liquid below.

"Mother, will I...Will I die?"

No answer...

"Mother...?"

_No, my son. Fight back! Get up and kill that bastard worm!_

"Mother, I'm so...tired...I'm sleepy..."

_NO! Get up you damn idiot! _

Her words shocked the materia-user like lightning to a tree and he obeyed immediately, rising to a semi-crouch. The intensity of the voice startled Sephiroth who noted none of the creature's usual warmth and affection. For the briefest of moments, the general wondered if he'd fallen from the frying pan and into the fire. Was a mother supposed to scream at a child like that? But how was he to know, having never had a matriarch figure in his life...Maybe that was quite normal...

_Listen, my precious...The human approaches. He thinks you are beyond retaliation, too weak to resist his assault. Let that misconception be his downfall. Act as if you don't notice him and I'll warn you when he makes the attempt—then cut him in two!_

The moment of doubt vanished. Of course, she served his best interests. How could he think otherwise? Sephiroth forcefully relaxed his breathing, going limp with his swordarm. Let the insect come...Closer...Closer...Closer...

_Now, strike!_

Rushing forward like a wave, Sephiroth surged with his blade like it was an extension of his arm. With madness driven by fear and anger, he lodged the blade in Cloud's lower stomach. Shocked, the guard dropped his sword with a scream. This time, the materia-warrior did not withdraw the weapon, rather forcing it further into his victim's body. Oddly enough, little blood flowed. But that would change once Sephiroth freed the blade and dumped Cloud into the searing liquid.

But 'twas not Cloud who fell into the mako pit. Blinded by his victory, Sephiroth was a moment too late in realizing that his attack didn't kill. And when realization hit it was too late.

In a moment of sheer impossibility, a simple Shin-ra guard flipped the greatest general that had ever lived over the steel railing. Sephiroth's scream seemed born of hell, the thing of a child's nightmare. In a half-arc he whirled down the metal shafts, missing every one of them. He flailed his arms and found no purchase. His spells failed, his mind deserted him.

_Mother, please, help me!_

But even Jenova could not help Sephiroth now.

Hitting the mako with a terrific crash that sent waves of liquid shooting in the air, the Head of SOLDIER plummeted within the folds of the steaming waters. The agony was unthinkable but Sephiroth couldn't scream, barely held onto the threads of awareness as it was. The general felt it eat away at his clothes and skin. Eat away at his thoughts, his consciousness...

_Mother...Mother...Mother..._

Two otherworldly emerald eyes shut.

Then everything vanished in a flash of white light...

_"Oh, boy, that was ugly..." Luke slumped down on the coffin as he balanced the book in a single hand. He looked up suddenly. "He went nuts, didn't he?"_

_Vincent perched on the edge, his face shadowed by the murky lamplight. He'd allowed no artificial light, such as that produced by mako electricity, in the chamber. Determined to appease his last contact, Luke had relented. Now the scientist nearly regretted it, since the poor lighting afforded the former-Turk a most menacing appearance. _

"_Nuts...? What strange euphemisms you people use in these times." His good hand lifted to scratch his chin. "Mentally unstable is more accurate. The realization of his origins—or falsehoods of his origins, rather—clearly opened a door in which Jenova could step through. It is a shame that so much death and destruction could be traced back to a simple word in a book."_

"_His name, you mean? Reading about how he was an experiment?"_

"_Yes. And a greater misfortune lies in the lost opportunity to redeem him at the critical moment. Had someone tried to sway Sephiroth when he read Hojo's books, perhaps you'd have no tale to write about, dear reporter."_

_Luke flushed. "A sad tale, indeed. Do you think that fate would allow such a thing? That Sephiroth could have avoided the dark path he walked?"_

_Vincent appeared amused. Appeared. Luke could never tell. "Possibility. Yet another thing we shall never now know."_


	9. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 7

**Book 2**

**Wrath of a god**

**Chapter 7**

_The Heir to the Planet_

Darkness claimed him.

Within him. Without. It consumed, like the night encroaches upon a pleasant evening or as the winter upon a fair fall. No ceiling. No floor. No walls around. No concept of dimension or existence. When the darkness is complete there can be nothing else.

But the darkness was not complete.

Thoughts sprang from the nothingness. A consciousness separated from the darkness. This consciousness was aware of vast time passing. Weeks. Months. Years. Like the tiniest bits of a dying star, the consciousness pieced together, forming thoughts.

_What is this place? _

_Who am I?_

_What has happened?_

As beautiful as a chorus of angels, voices rushed into the dead silence. Men. Women. Children. A sound of such heartbreaking loveliness that a mortal must die once it ceased. The consciousness listened, barely acknowledging its own existence. And though it knew naught how it knew, it remembered the words from another time, another life...

_Estuanus Interius_

_Ira Vehementi_

_Sephiroth_

_Where am I?_

From the darkness the answer came.

_You are within the vaults of your own mind. After your trauma it collapsed in upon itself. Unable to repair itself from the extensive damage inflicted your consciousness shut down, sealing you within the darkness. Only recently has it healed enough to revoke the mental exile and restore you to partial consciousness._

_I lost my mind?_

_No, say rather that you gained so much of it that it could not handle the strain. That, and the ordeal you suffered at the hands of your enemies. It grieves me that so many ills have been visited upon you. But now you have recovered. I am overjoyed. The sound you hear is the angels ecstatic at your resurrection._

The more the voice spoke, the more the consciousness grew. Grew aware, of its own body and image. He, a man of silver-shaded hair and mako-green eyes. Tall and imposing, a man to be feared. A man with a mission. A holy war to be waged. Yet the details of that war eluded him.

_I know, my beloved son. They took that from you. Your true identity, your legacy. You came to me, came to free me. They feared you. They feared you so much they tried to kill you. But you are one of us, one of the Cetra. They could not kill you, any more than an insect can slay a god._

_Who are they?_

_The humans. They sought to hold you down, to deny you the crown of the Cetra. Like raw, hard ore you must be cast into the fire to emerge as a sword, strong and proud. But first comes the pain, the remembrance. It will be another ordeal for you, I fear. You must not despair. Be strong for what must come..._

_For what must come..._

_Yes, my son, you will remember..._

And so he did. Like running water, images flooded the darkness before his eyes. Hojo. Gast. Zack. Cloud. Tifa. Michael. Terrence. Lanine. Scenery sprang to life. Midgar. Junon Harbor. Nibelhiem. Moments swiftly followed. Of his childhood. Of the war with Wutai. Emotions stormed him. Anger. Anger at the human's cruelty. Sorrow. Sorrow at the mistreatment of his mother. Insanity. Insanity at the fate thrust upon him.

Him. Sephiroth.

Crushed under the weight of the awful memories, Sephiroth sank to his knees and into despair. He failed her. He failed his mother. There, him, the Great General Sephiroth reduced to ashes by a mere human. Not that he cared. Let him fall back into the dark unawareness. Let even his voice fade from memory for his words alone sounded harsh in this silence like swords clashing in a chapel hall...

_No! You and I have struggled too hard and sacrificed too much to allow petty emotion hold us down. For four years I have nurtured you throughout your illness. I have given so much for your success..._The voice raged in his head, invective, several octaves above anything remotely human. But then, his mother was no lowly weak human. She was Cetra. Wise and omnipotent. Her voice intensified as she continued.

_Do not be afraid. Mother loves you. Mother is not angry with you. Mother is angry with those who did this to you. Even now, there is one who would stand in your righteous path..._

_Who, who is he!?_

_Say, rather, who is she?_

The darkness swirled in the space before Sephiroth and he recoiled as if fearing retaliation. He need not have worried, though. Merely colors spilled into the darkness, not a phantom. It took shape, form. Within the span of two heartbeats, the image materialized revealing a young, picturesque girl of wavy brown curls. She sat amid flowers in a run-down church. Like a butterfly she scurried among them, unaware of the eyes upon her.

_Aerith Gainsborough. She is the bane of the Cetra. The Crisis from the Skies. She came to our world many years ago. You know the story; you read it. How she deceived our people, infected them, drove them mad. You are the last. She will kill you—if you don't slay her first._

Transfixed, Sephiroth stroked the image. Like touching water, the image scattered, though memory itself engraved the sight in his mind. She was without a doubt the loveliest girl he'd ever laid eyes on. No mar on her face; not an imperfection to her frame. Nor did she seem capable of murder or even the slightest infraction. As the ex-General watched, the girl tended her flowers with the greatest care.

_A girl? How can something so...innocent...be capable of so much suffering?  
_

_Do not be deceived, Sephiroth. She takes that form to blind the humans and our beloved kin from her true task. Some of the darkest angels are the most beautiful. _

Sephiroth conceded that. It made sense. Of course, she would appear to be harmless. Then she may proceed with her evil mission undisturbed. If the girl looked innocent people would naturally assume it to be so. But not he. No, he would atone for his failure. _I shall not fall under her spell. Your will shall be carried out and I will kill the 'girl'. I hope—no, I will prove worthy of your faith. Show me this vision of yours. Of the Cetra and their, our, ascension. _

Beneath his knees images slowly came to life, spreading out until it encircled the ex-General like a prismatic dome. Sudden wind swept up Sephiroth's midnight cloak and shining silver hair. He rocked back on his heels, stunned. Light blazed, forcing him to shield his eyes with an arm. At its dissipation, he lowered it, glancing around.

Gone was the unending night, the limitless blackness. He genuflected in a pool of pristine water that gave way to marble steps in a sanctum of some higher being. To the pool's left stood a cascading crystalline staircase that dozens of men and women ascended. Wreathed in ethereal iridescence, their footsteps produced little sound, their flowing silk garments whispering. Up and up they marched, voices rising in cadence Sephiroth knew like the air in his lungs.

_Estuanus Interius_

_Ira Vehementi_

_Sephiroth_

Climbing to his feet, Sephiroth's mind reeled. _Who? Who are these people?_

_Your people. The Cetra. You are the heir to the Planet. They await their heir, their leader. Take your place upon the Throne of Cetra and feel what it is to be one of us!_

At that moment, nothing could describe the ex-General's sheer, unadulterated joy. Him, the heir to the Planet. A leader of the great Cetra people. A shining sliver of light to vanquish the evil, lowly humans. Whipping his head back and forth, Sephiroth banished the water like falling teardrops and started his trek up the crystalline stair.

For years the young native of Midgar knew naught his purpose or his legacy.

The Heir knew now.

So surreal. The stuff of dreams. All around the radiant Cetras dropped to their knees, their multi-colored capes and skirts pooling beneath them. Their voices fluttered in the air, as birdsong and chimes of bells, their tone of reverence and worship. Each time his booted foot landed on a step their crescendo peaked, stirring him on.

At last, his mouth dry, the materia warrior knelt by the throne. A stunning structure, of glass and marble, it radiated exotic power. His gloved hand slid over the intricate insignias and patterned glyphs. For the span of a heartbeat, Sephiroth's gaze remained downcast. Then, slowly, it traveled the length of the chair up to the golden-dome ceiling. In one decisive moment, he swept up and sat down at the same instant their voices harmonized.

_Sephiroth! _

_My son, are you ready for the tests? Are you worthy to be one of us, worthy of the throne of the Promised Land? _

His words were barely more than a whisper..._Yes, I am._

In a sharp flash of light, everything evaporated.

Darkness claimed him.

Cold. Hard. Flat.

A moan escaped his cracked lips. Ice slashed at his eyelids, preventing Sephiroth from opening them. Like a newly-birthed infant, he huddled against the nearest object—that being a snow-covered boulder. His gloved hands clawed into the rough surface as he formed a fetal position, his back to the wind.

And still it came. Snow. More snow. If he tarried, the former SOLDIER could easily be buried. Despite this grim knowledge, his body resisted, clinging to the cold stone. After a long time, Sephiroth rolled to his knees. He opened his eyes and almost immediately regretted it. Wherever in the Planet he'd ended up on, it was in the throes of a most magnificent, and vicious, maelstrom he'd ever encountered.

Shuffling on his hands and knees, head bent low against the cutting wind, the Heir crossed the distance to the nearest shelter, that of a cavern. An agonizingly slow trek to be sure. Not a moment passed that the materia warrior didn't long to crumple into the snowdrifts and burrow in like the various rodents native to this harsh terrain.

Sephiroth purposefully deluded himself into believing that the Promised Land lay within the cavern. That chased away the darkness his mind threatened to tunnel into. Once at the threshold, the former SOLDIER scurried in. The wind howled behind him, as if disappointed at his escape.

The thought that the cave was otherwise occupied never entered his mind. Some sixth sense, perhaps Cetra-born, confirmed its vacancy. Crouching in the farthermost corner of the cave, the ex-General shook his weary head, crystalline flakes wafting like stardust. Then he lowered it, silver-shaded hair falling over his facial features like a curtain. He tugged the ebony trench coat about his person, chilled by the stone floor.

_Look at me, the great General Sephiroth taking refuge in a cave animals themselves abandoned_. Still, 'twas shelter, and, for now, that would have to suffice.

Rocking back and forth, Sephiroth muttered to himself with bleeding lips. Lips that bled no longer, rather. Such was the extreme low temperature that liquid instantly solidified. His vision dimmed and it felt so natural to close his eyes...

_No!_

Sephiroth started, shocked at how easily the slumber seduced him. Not such a surprising slip-up, he supposed, though it irked him nonetheless. Profound cold tended to lull victims into sleep, slaying them in their rest. How often had the former leader of Shin-ra's Military warned Third-Class SOLDIERs against even momentary lapses into unconsciousness?

He wasn't dead, though not so far off from that. Most of his body trembled violently and, what didn't, refused to move at all. What was previously an effortless task, activating an emerald materia orb, became a lengthy, cumbersome process. Sephiroth licked his lips, tasting cooper. The orb teetered in his unsteady hand, so he clamped his other hand to prevent it from slipping through his fingers. Should it do so, he might never find something so tiny in the mounds of snow.

"Fire..." he choked, lungs locking up. Sephiroth coughed hard. Then, with a measure of strength, he mumbled, "Fire."

A crimson beam shot from between his tightly clasped fingers, striking the clump of stones. A spark sprang to life. Fire. Light. Warmth. Sighing, the ex-General hovered by the flames, so near it initially singed wisps of his hair. He didn't back off though. He was warm and that was all that mattered. Firelight danced across his face, highlighting his porcelain, near-perfect features.

_Estuanus Interius_

_Ira Vehementi_

_Sephiroth_

"Who..." The Cetra? His mother? Some other alien for good or for ill? Though its source bewildered the materia warrior he took solace in it. Like a baby cradled in a mother's embrace, he curled into a ball. Content with the world...or oblivious to it. Neither mattered. He drifted off to sweet sleep, never realizing that, of course, the words came from his own lips.

Upon awaking the first thing Sephiroth did was vomit. He bent over and emptied the contents, what little remained anyway, of his stomach. Once finished, the ex-General crawled to the cavern wall and sat up against it, pulling his knees under his chin. Sephiroth lowered his face and wrapped both arms tightly around his legs.

Then it began.

Like a cancer, convulsions seized his body, starting at the extremities and spreading to every system. His teeth chattered. His shoulders shook. His legs darted in every conceivable direction. His carefully crafted stance shattered as the neurological disorder held the materia warrior prisoner within his own body.

_Mother! Am I being attacked? What is happening to me? Please, help me!_

Only the wicked wind answered him.

Maybe Jenova couldn't aid her child, or maybe she didn't really bother. Sephiroth reminded himself, that, despite the pain dancing along his limbs, his mother did care. What faith had he, that he should question the affection of one so dear? She didn't respond not because she would not, but rather could not. Perhaps the humans prevented her? Was she weakened from the ordeal of returning him to the Planet?

As if someone drilled a knife in the space between his eyes, the former SOLDIER screamed at the pain that burst in his skull. Such was the pain he feared he might die from it. Burying his face into his hands, Sephiroth drove his fingers into his temples, hoping to stem the awful tide. Of no use. It stretched across his skin like someone fighting to cover a bed with too small a blanket.

Fortunately, it lasted mere minutes. After the pain vanished, another bout of nausea made Sephiroth regurgitate to the point that his insides hurt. He chuckled, almost maddeningly under the circumstances. How could one regurgitate without _anything_ to throw-up? That defied logic. But then, hadn't he always?

Too drained even for minimal movement, the native of Midgar listened to the wind shrieking.

Thoughts spun in his head, much like the snowflakes outside. This was hardly the glorious return he'd envisioned. Eyes glazed, Sephiroth drifted in and out of consciousness. As he started to slip away again, something touched the fringes of his mind.

Hunger. _Mother, please provide for me. Please help me._

Again, no help was forthcoming. Sephiroth seriously wonder if his mother tested him—some Cetra ritual, to deem his worthiness. If he could not sustain himself, how could he expect to rule over an entire race? Though the situation seemed hopeless, the Wutain war hero decided not to treat it as thus. One did not rise though the illustrious ranks of SOLDIER without the skills necessary for survival. Resorting to his Third Class SOLDIER military training actually impeded the fear suffocating his mind and partially fended off his suffering.

Shelter? The cave. Check. Water? The snow. Check. Heat? The fire. Check. Food...?

Having extensively researched the genetic manuscripts in the Nibelhiem Mansion, Sephiroth realized that, having been composed of Jenova cells and large quantities of mako, his ability to endure without nourishment extended much more than regular SOLDIERs. But how far did the limit go? The ex-General certainly had no desire to learn. The illness weakened his body and nutrients would likely speed his recovery.

Sating his thirst on mako-melted snow, the Heir crouched near the fire. Even without the winter storm tearing apart the landscape and impairing vision, Sephiroth would be hard-pressed to forage for food in his infirm condition. A vicious cycle. Beyond the ability to hunt, his strength would deplete making it increasingly more difficult to find sustenance. Without sustenance his situation would deteriorate to the point that neither fresh fruit in his lap or an abated storm would avail him.

_Ah, the irony. __Once a man feared by all, now reduced to death by starvation!_

Not the most pleasant way to go.

Hours stretched into days. The storm refused to relinquish its grip on the crater. Sephiroth wondered if the elemental conditions stemmed from the season or were merely native to this terrain. If the latter, then that made matters even more precarious for the feeble former SOLDIER. Finding vegetation would likely be impossible and any animal indigenous to this realm could probably put up a decent struggle.

Humming to himself, Sephiroth traced letters into the cavern's snow-covered floor. Feeling the weight of the predicament, the ex-General realized a brief self pep-talk was in order. How often had he reminded his subordinates to do that for themselves? Detailing his accomplishments might help alleviate the anxiety the materia warrior felt gnawing at his soul. _I am the Great General Sephiroth. I was the High Commander; the most esteemed military officer in all of Shin-ra. I lead the army at the age of eighteen. I am the wielder of the most destructive force of all, the deadly Masamune..._

The list halted. He hit upon something that shattered the delicate ace cards he assembled—the loss of his beloved Masamune.

_Why did that not occur to me before?_ Of course, survival often prompted one to forget things.

The thought depressed him. Sephiroth missed that sword more than all his subordinates and SOLDIER companions. It was the one good constant in his beleaguered life. Lowering himself so that his cheek pressed against the snow, he stopped the lettering and began tracing a crude blade. He never finished. From the tip of his finger tremors coursed up his hand, into his arm, through his shoulders and neck and finally erupting into his head.

"...Umm...Hojo...Needles...Blood..."

A shadow danced along the wall.

"...Umm...Nibelhiem...Fire...Blood..."

The shadow crept near.

"...Umm...Cetra...Mother...Blood..."

_Strike my son! Strike it now!_

Strike? Now? Strike what now?

Like a stone shattering a pond, the delirium vanished. Acting purely on military instinct and his mother's guidance, Sephiroth slammed his fist on the creature that approached him. A squeal, then silence. That didn't deter him. Again and again, the former SOLDIER crashed his fist into the body, never minding that it failed to move since the first hit.

Two otherworldly emerald-sapphire eyes drifted down as he removed his hand to reveal the sight of a broken body. So much blood for so small a thing. Slowly, as if in a trance, Sephiroth lifted his bloodied hand to his lips. He didn't hesitate. Gratefully, the ex-General drank, taking heart from the creature's lifefluid. Nothing like the magnificent banquets he was accustomed to, yet it was nourishment, and for him, it was the most beautiful food in the world.

Once eating his fill, Sephiroth wiped the blood off his chin. He shoved a strand of hair behind his ears, staining the lovely silver a rusty red. A faint smile took his lips as the ex-General snuggled up to the ring of stones. Like a miser hordes gold, he clutched the dead rodent to his chest. Content, Sephiroth felt sleep steal him away and this time he fell willingly, knowing his mother loved him.

The storm sang on.

The strong survive; the weak perish.

Determination kept Sephiroth from entering the ranks of the latter.

Days passed. His strength returned. Such a miserably slow process. Like the affects of the drugs Hojo had gleefully pumped into his veins, Sephiroth suffered from hallucinations, vomiting, dizziness, and delirium. At lengths, he even spoke to himself. And, truth be told, answered his own questions with responses so far off the tangent as to not even resemble the original conversation. Rodents and crushed snow sustained him.

As always, no one held his hand through the crisis.

Almost no one.

_Always remember that mother loves you, Sephiroth._

Weeks passed. The affliction subsided enough for the former SOLDIER to venture onto the glacier. Why few ever explored this far north could well be understood—harsh, freezing territory inhabited by savage creatures misshapen by mako was hardly a tourist spot. Still, those creatures quickly learned to respect Sephiroth. He suffered no one, even as battered and broken-spirited as he was.

Still, his mother never let him fall back into insanity. She never let him get off the path.

Months passed. Despite his abhorrence of humans, Sephiroth tired of the snow-clad hills and monstrous mountains. His task to return the Cetras to their former glory would take some time. Naturally, it required several sub-quests to complete first—foremost, the recovery of Masamune. He would return to civilization and seek out any that knew its whereabouts. One problem did occur to him, however.

He was broke. Once the earner of a six-figure salary, Sephiroth bore not a coin to his name.

Easily remedied though. Materia fetched a fine price in the markets and here, in the 'Promised Land' existed more raw mako than anywhere else, combined, on the Planet.

Bereft of his precious Eskallanilna, Sephiroth made do with a broken stalagmite. For hundreds of feet, cavern walls gleamed with frozen mako, the green shine coloring his stature like lifestream. All, his, for the looting. And loot he did. Now immune to the negative effects of mako, he struck the wall and smiled when a piece loosened to clang on the floor with a satisfying sound.

After seven months, the ex-General deemed it time. He left the crater, climbing the hills with a fire of anticipation burning in his chest. He had failed once. Not again. Never again. He'd felt too much, fallen too fast. The humans scented his weakness, as blood on a maimed deer, and dove in, tearing apart the hopes and dreams of him, his mother and the Cetras...

Sephiroth gazed out across the glacier as he stood upon the perimeter's precipice. It shone as sunlight on still waters. A brisk wind swept up his long silver hair and trench cloak. He appeared as a demi-god observing his abode. Like a mantis trapped in amber, mako surrounded his body within the crater. Soon, he would return...but not until the reunion.

_Yes, my beloved son. The reunion. Bring them here. Guide the strong, kill the weak. There will some who will resist, fight back...But we will deal with them in due time..._

"Indeed," he whispered, "All in due time."

The trek to civilization was, for the most part, uneventful. Those monsters foolish enough to try their hand against the master materia-wielder die quickly enough. Touching crimson, emerald, sapphire, violet, and gold he slew a path that would make the hardiest mercenary blanch. Not such a concern for him, considering the twisted nature of the beasts.

Up and beyond the mountains, Sephiroth reached the pleasant, if dull, settlement of Icicle Town. Half a dozen wooden houses mired in snow up to their windows hunched around each other like fishermen huddled near a fire. Small human children played while their parents lay supine, chatting with one another. The appreciation of precipitation never ceased to amaze the former Head of SOLIDER, but then, he hardly ever understood anything remotely human.

Within minutes, the materia warrior stood on the threshold of Icicle Inn. Not exactly remarkable, certainly less than anything the high-classed ex-General was accustomed to. He paid that no heed. Sephiroth approached the counter, dropping a drawstring pouch on the wood. The innkeeper, a buxom woman of flame-red hair, snapped to attention. It reminded the former SOLDIER of how his old subordinates often did. Many other patrons glanced in his direction, whispers circulating like the chill air that permeated through a broken window.

He tilted his head. "I need a room."

The woman stared avariciously at the fat pouch. "A room? Is that all?"

"Yes. Your best room," Sephiroth stated coldly. He laid two hands on the counter with a deliberate slowness. "Preferably one with black curtains, a clean bed and no one to _either side_." As he leaned forward for emphasis, some of his lovely silver hair tumbled out of his black cowl. Irritated, Sephiroth hurried to stuff it back in.

The Innkeeper halted him though, grabbing a strand and peering at it like materia. "That's some pretty hair you got." Her hand trailed up to the ex-General's cheek. "My, aren't you a beauty. Hard up for some company...? I could change that—"

Green eyes flashing, Sephiroth knocked the hand away. The touch frightened him. Not in the tension of romance, or even mere fear of her. Rather, it unearthed the memory of a weasel-eyed man, Hojo. Restraining him. Doping him. Hitting him. Hurting him...He breathed heavily, swallowing the hatred, lest it burn out of his chest in the form of torching this town.

_Burning towns._ _A favorite pastime of mine_, he thought with a wry smile. Then that smile twisted. _If I ever lay my hands on you Hojo, they'll never find your body. _Leveling a stare that could cut stone, Sephiroth addressed the woman. "Do not touch me again, if you value your life."

"Alright! Alright! Here's the keys!" Like they burned her, she dropped them into his gloved hand. "Just being friendly. You just looked like someone I might know."

"Do not remember my face." Sephiroth's tone paralleled his eyes in intensity now. "It would not be of benefit to you."

With that, the ex-General quit the lobby and entered his room. It was not hard to find considering the numbers etched in the keys matched those on the wood door. He slipped inside, locked the door, and tossed his fur-lined cloak to the floor. Fur was never a favorite of his, but Sephiroth couldn't deny its heating properties and had crafted one for the journey. Sighing, he plopped onto the bed, shutting his otherworldly emerald eyes.

_Why am I so adverse to human touch...?_ Shaking his head, Sephiroth realized the answer lay within his question. Human touch...A hand on the shoulder, holding hands, an embrace...these forms of touching carried the connotation of comfort, solace and companionship. Or at least, on the surface. The hand on the shoulder could easily become a dagger in the back. The hand that held yours could conceal a weapon. The embrace could become your last...

_Ask, rather, why you worry yourself with such things, my dear Sephiroth. As a Cetra it is quite normal to loathe human contact. After all, is it not natural to be wary of the touch of one's own enemies? _

A smile stole into his lips. _I question yet again. Ever am I in need of your counsel. _

Mother failed to answer but the former SOLDIER expected none. Yawning, Sephiroth glanced about his person. Trail-worn apparel, mud-caked boots, grimy skin, greasy hair. He drew a very logical conclusion. "I need a bath..." he muttered to the maid bent over a bucket in the hallway. She didn't dally, scurrying to fill his tub with snow steamed on a stove. As the maid hurried about her business, the ex-General contemplated the necessity for his wash.

Not a very vain person was he. Nor did he need to be. For some inexplicable reason, the Midgarian remained relatively clean despite the unforgiving terrain the army often thrust him into. While his comrades returned to the encampment steeped in mud, Sephiroth rarely came back with a hair out of place. Chalk up another reason for his companions to despise him...

However, in this case, the former SOLDIER hadn't found the means to bathe normally. He supposed it would be an awkward adjustment for him from washing in the shallow streams of the Northern Crater. A much welcome venture, stripping the stink not only of the road but of the humans themselves.

"Is that to your liking, sir?"

He dipped a finger in. Too hot...but then what did he from a human...? "It will do. Tell them to prepare a meal for me."

"Yes, sir." Like a pixie, she darted out the door.

As he settled into the bath, Sephiroth settled into the mantle of leadership. So easy to fall back into the patterns of order and obey. For more years than he cared to remember, the Wutain legend commanded the most prestigious military on the Planet. No more. Though he was too far north to produce media frenzy, Sephiroth suspected that his cover could be imperiled travelling any further south.

With a yawn, the former SOLDIER craned his neck. _I shall have to take care to avoid Nibelhiem. _His lips twisted at his own sick humor. Where he'd picked that up, he did not recall. Reaching for a bar of soap, Sephiroth noted the number "1" tattooed to his hand. Wearing gloves almost exclusively, he rarely saw his own flesh. What did that mean: number one? Was it evidence of his being the first of a bio-product of Gast and Hojo?

_Say rather, it is a testament to your status..._

Now his smile was genuine. He liked thinking of it that way.

Sighing lazily, the materia warrior sunk within the depths, water closing over his neck, cheeks, and finally his mouth and nose. His beautiful starlight-shaded hair floated to the surface. Then Sephiroth shut his eyes...Panic rushed in, suffocating him. The experience at the Nibel Reactor tore through his mind—the feeling of helpless abandon, the searing pain, the thoughts of failure. Sephiroth straightened, gasping.

"Sir?" 

The serving girl spoke, carrying a tray, the smell of chicken and rice wafting through the washroom. The ex-General realized that he must seem as a madman, long hair plastered to his face, pupils dilated, mouth agape. Waving his hand in quick, cutting motion, Sephiroth muttered, "Leave my dinner downstairs. I will eat it in the common room."

Left alone to his own devices, Sephiroth fell into the vault of his mind. What had come over him? Human emotions? Human frailties? Rummaging in the room's dresser, the materia warrior found some old clothing, which he tossed on. Not exactly the best fit, nor of any desirable fashion but anything had to be better than his filthy garments. He made a mental note to ask for their cleaning at a future date.

As the ex-General prepared to leave, his eye caught on a pair of scissors casually draped on the nightstand. Distractedly, Sephiroth streamed his fingers through the silver hair. Hojo had insisted from a very early age that he not cut it. His hand dropped down to the scissors. Maybe, as a last epitaph to their association, he should slice it off, and with it, Hojo's lasting impression on him.

But things had never come easily to Sephiroth, and this was no exception.

Try as he might, the former SOLDIER found himself unable to go through with it. The steel blades strayed teasingly near his silky strands. Something ingrained in his brain cried out, halted the materia warrior. The hair, and Hojo's presence, was too much a part of him now to be rid of so simply. Sephiroth cursed under his breath and hurled the scissors far into the darkest corner of the room.

_I'll eat. Think. Focus. There are more important matters demanding my attention now_. Composing himself, Sephiroth swept out the door and hurried downstairs. Like a wave crashing on the shore, the stink of sweat and the sound of shattering plates assaulted his senses. Ignoring everyone completely, the former SOLDIER sought out an unoccupied table and sat at the nearest one. A snap of his fingers drew the attention of the maid. She laid out his meal and a newspaper and left. The ex-General ate and engrossed himself in the Midgar Telegram.

Down with a mouthful of rice. Uprising at Gongaga. _Not uncommon._ More rice. Murder in Midgar. _Similarly unsurprising._ He glanced up and down the paper without much interest. Some chicken. In the approximately five years since his accident at the Nibel Reactor, little had changed—except, of course, the degrading of both the ethics and the health of the Planet and that in itself could hardly be considered change.

_What a miserable state of affairs—ah, I suppose there's no helping it. _

"A blade you say?"

"Yeah, the most beautiful weapon I'd ever seen!"

The newspaper fell to the table, forgotten. The possibility of him hearing exactly what he needed was certainly beyond what random chance would normally permit. Still, it was an opportunity the materia warrior couldn't afford to pass up. Pushing the chair back, he rose and crossed the distance to the mercenaries.

"You mentioned a sword...pray tell, where is it?" Sephiroth was no one for wasting time on formalities or small talk.

"Aye, I did. What's it to you?"

Insolent fool. Sephiroth's right fist clenched...Normally he'd nail the man to the wall with his own ribs, choking him until the information gurgled out with his blood. That would not do now, however. Had he, Sephiroth's face would be plastered on the Midgar Telegram—not exactly the optimal manner in which to remain unseen.

The ex-General lowered his voice to its farthest depths. "Your life."

"Eh?" He stumbled back in his chair. Apparently, the man didn't know Sephiroth's predicament and naturally assumed the threat to be sincere. Inherent cowardice drove the words out of his mouth. "Alright! I meant no offense. The blade is at the bottom of the ocean near a waterfall. You best be leaving it be though."

A frown crept into the former SOLDIER's lips. "Oh, why?"

"The underwater is home to a legendary beast." _Are they all not, thought Sephiroth._ The man continued. "It's the size of Junon Cannon, or so I'm told. And I'm betting it wouldn't take kindly to anyone disturbing it."

"Then I shall have to take care not to wake it, then." Likely the man exaggerated so Sephiroth dismissed the warning. Even if the man did not, what did it matter? Hadn't the master materia-wielder faced graver threats...such as the demi-god Da-Chao and the Guardian? Some ocean-crawling caterpillar would hold no sway over his quest to reclaim Masamune.

"You have been to this site, I presume? Do you have a map I may purchase?" The ex-General detested conducting business with this low-life human but he conceded to the necessary evil.

Negotiating a fair price (Sephiroth narrowed his eyes to persuade the man to acquiesce) for the map, the former SOLDIER then asked about the area. After dangling a pouch of coins and the man became surprisingly compliant, even to the extent of providing some materia he claimed Sephrioth needed. Sephiroth eyed the orbs, purple Free-Motion, and a green Underwater. That _seemed_ useful...

Since the money (or materia) was no object, the ex-General purchased both and then spoke on methods of travel. Since the distance was entirely too far to trek on foot, the man offered to rent his chocobo. More bargaining—and threatening—and the transaction ended. A most profitable effort, one that brought him that much closer to Masamune.

_Excellent, child. This shall be your first true test since...Nibelhiem. Do not fail me again._

"If I fail, and I will do everything in my power not to, then I will deservedly die."

Over the mountains Sephiroth rode, making excellent time. After the trek ended at a waterfall cavern, he heaved off the bird, smiling with pleasure. Such was the speed, he'd cut off two whole days from his initial estimate. The chocobo he'd rented behaved marvelously. More accustomed to, and truth be told, preferring, non-living vehicles, still Sephiroth found this mode of transportation agreeable. The former SOLDIER never had an affinity for animals yet this one never gave him no reason for pause.

Hauling out a drawstring pouch, he selected a number of materia orbs, among them: heal, fire, restore...and lodged them in the holes of his belt. He bore no weapon. Having wielded the Wutain blade, _Eskallanilna_ for so many years of his life, Sephiroth feared anything else would be woefully inadequate. In addition, it seemed sacrilegious somehow.

"Wark! Wark!"

A smirk spread across the pale features of Sephiroth. Picking out a merritt green, the ex-General fed it to the Chocobo. It gobbled greedily, warking again in appreciation. Then it ruffled its feather, perhaps expecting to be patted. If so, it would be disappointed. Sephiroth had never been comfortable with close contact and a disgruntled bird was not about to set his mind at ease.

Whipping his long ebony cloak behind him, the former SOLDIER climbed down the rocky incline, working his way down to the water's edge. Rapids rushed past, culminating at the base of a waterfall. A grown man could easily be submerged within a heartbeat and crushed beneath the icy depths to a watery grave.

And there he must go.

Strapping the belt on tight, Sephiroth tapped his Free-Motion Materia. Activated. Then his gloved fingers slid over the green materia, Underwater. Should it perform properly, his lungs would naturally transform the water to air, thus providing him with a means of breathing. If it did not, however, he wouldn't have long to bemoan its malfunction.

_Mother, Cetras, beloved kin, pray for me..._

Activated...

He shut his eyes...

He breathed in deep....

He took the plunge...

Cold. So cold. Like the depths of the Great Glacier. It burned along his nerves, setting every cell to screaming the instant his body crashed through the surface. For a moment, the ex-General maintained his balance. But that was lost a moment later as he struck the edge of the ford and swept over the waterfalls. In a fantastic display of acrobatics, Sephiroth remained upright as he smashed through the bottom.

Then, the waters closed over his head.

A most disconcerting feeling. Of pressure from all sides. Of blurry vision. Of a strange weightlessness. Gradually, Sephiroth adjusted to the environmental changes though he enjoyed them no more. The memory of his fall at the Nibelhiem reactor was still too fresh for him. The feeling of entrapment, of imminent doom.

That all vanished at the sight of one object.

Like a newly-minted star, there she shined. He dove through the waters for her.

_Eskallanilna..._

Closer...

Still closer...

Almost...

Almost was not enough. As if a meteor slammed into the Planet, an animalistic roar emanated from the beast. Sephiroth took that for the ill omen it was. The sound cleaved the ex-General's skull like thousands of stabbing origami and he gagged, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer force of the sonic assault. Even the waters seemed silent beneath its fury. When as last it ceased, Emerald Weapon climbed to its staggering height.

Wisdom urged Sephiroth to make hasty his retreat. He could do nothing but gasp, however, cemented to the spot. It actually hurt to gaze up at the green-skinned monstrosity. Two courses of action now lay before the materia warrior: abort his mission and leave Masamune or risk his life to retrieve it. Challenging the beast could hardly be considered an option, but neither could he abandon his directive...

Odds be damned, no sea-crawling worm would halt his mission.

Touching a green materia orb on his belt, the ex-General activated a shield about his person, its magic shimmering around his form in a dome of multi-spectrum light. Then, using every ounce of energy afforded him, Sephiroth blazed a path directly toward the blade. It gleamed in the sea-green waters like a light dropped down from the Promised Land. Some innate feeling claimed that should he grasp her shining hilt once more, _Eskallanilna_ would not fail him in this struggle.

Such was not to be, however. Already the former SOLDIER heard the crashing of Emerald's feet on the ocean floor and felt more than saw the shadow smothering him. Numerous times Sephiroth had to sidestep a laser Emerald sent his way. Debris hurled about oddly in the water. Several pieces bounced off his shield. It would scare be long before his main line of defense shattered, rending him helpless to the Weapon's attack.

And that it did. Shatter, that is. A shrieking bolt of sapphire slammed into his left side, shocking his systems, singing his hair and filling his body with excruciating pain. Mere feet from his goal, Sephiroth staggered back. The ex-General had not contemplated the sheer power of the creature. The last mistake he'd made of this magnitude cost him his life and his mission.

No, no, no...Not again.

Blackness became his world now. Acting on primal instinct, Sephiroth hurled himself far from the spot, erecting the shield over himself once more. It became a life-saving maneuver, as the sound of crushing rock savaged his ears, nearly stealing his hearing as well. The pain sang a melody of torment in the former SOLIDER's blood. Had he trusted his shield to protect him, Sephiroth would likely be spirit energy himself. That, by no means, insured his salvation. For all he knew, the ex-General might now be in the clear like a chocobo ripe for some feast.

Not an encouraging thought.

Bereft of his vision, Sephiroth decided a moving target was likely harder to kill. He sped through the waters, the purple materia of free-motion affording him a measure of stable footing. How many fragments his shield warded the ex-General could only imagine. A dozen explosions erupted all around him: left, right, over, under...But they did not touch Sephiroth. Even his high-level force field obviously had no ability to so immaculately protect him...Perhaps some higher being, some guardian angel...

_I am, my beloved son. I am._

Her voice refreshed his soul like spring mountain water, fending off his fears. What had he to worry about? He was Sephiroth, the former Head of SOLDIER. He'd faced bigger (figuratively speaking, of course) threats than this. He was the Heir, and heirs bow to no one.

Again resorting to his military training, and a few skills accumulated through some difficult social situations, the ex-General varied his movements, ensuring that Emerald could discern no pattern. Sephiroth needed time, time to locate his Heal materia. His fingers traveled across his belt, seeking the tiny orb. How many had he attached there? By the time the ex-General found the correct materia, Emerald would again disable his shield and tear him apart.

Just like the mound Sephiroth hid behind. A shriek ripped from his throat as the ex-General was flung far afield. Striking a wall, he heard a terrific crunch and slid down to the sea floor. _There goes a rib..._he thought morbidly. The assumption was affirmed a mere breath later as he felt it rattle in his chest. As Sephiroth spat out blood he made a snap decision—he would select the first materia his fingers reached and hope for the best.

An utterly reckless course of action and one that should have yielded results other than that which he experienced. Miraculously the ex-General's sight returned and with it, a goodly portion of his strength. Fortunate, that. Thus, when the snake-like pearl beam shot in his direction, Sephiroth could both see and dodge it. He rolled forward, barely evading the shock wave. Daring a glance back, the former SOLDIER discovered that the rock he'd previously inhabited existed no longer. No fragments, no debris of any kind.

If he didn't escape he was as good as dead.

_Not without my Eskallanilna..._

Pain leapt to his head, striking Sephiroth down. The stench from his left side told the story of burnt flesh and exposed muscles. Blood from his various wounds drifted upwards in a sickly pinkish display. The ex-General appeared as if he'd been half-submerged in steaming mako. He had naught time to oblige his agony, now, though. Ever on the move, Emerald tossed half-a-dozen sharp silvers of light at him. Live people move; dead, don't.

Circling the creature, Sephiroth sped past boulders, each bursting from Emerald's attack a heartbeat later. No time to worry about that. He had to focus if the former SOLDIER dared to dream of wielding Masamune again. As he closed in on the blade's position, Sephiroth cast his hand in a twirl over his head, sending spheres of flame at the Weapon. That diverted the beast long enough for him to grasp _Eskallanilna_ and dive behind another boulder just as Emerald let a stream of ice particles at his direction.

Then, in moment of divine (or Cetra?) inspiration, Sephiroth leapt onto the beast.

'Twas a strategic maneuver and one that should have been impossible to execute. But executed it was, and to terrific result. While the ex-General 'rode' the creature, Emerald couldn't lock his lasers on him, providing Sephiroth with some cover. The former SOLDIER had no such impediment. Racing from one green-skinned shoulder to the next, Sephiroth sliced and diced, leaving a trail of blood that sent the few remaining underwater creatures aflutter.

Bizarrely, the WEAPON uttered not a sound. Bucking and rearing, it sought to dislodge the menace from its shoulders. No effect. That menace, Sephiroth, clung to the creature. At each opportunity he dug Masamune in deep, the crimson life flowing in the water and stinging his eyes. As Emerald hurled himself about, the ex-General slipped on blood and stumbled down the creature's left side. The landing would hurt, badly.

But land he did not. Strands of his long hair intertwined with the monster's claws, halting his descent. It was a not a welcome change of pace, however. The WEAPON, perhaps thinking his adversary dead, launched into the waters with all the velocity of a North Corel train. Such was the speed, that Sephiroth found it nearly impossible to breathe.

That was the least of his worries. Emerald raced through the waters, slamming against the raised ocean floor several times. Caught between, almost literally, a rock and a hard place, the ex-General's body was first crushed, then raked until he bled. Oftentimes the collisions left tatters of his trench coat and shreds of flesh.

Sephiroth shrieked—but down in the deep blue sea no one can hear you scream.

Except, of course, mother.

_Tear yourself away from the creature! Chop off your hair if you must! You are the Heir!_

Spinning Masamune in his hand, the ex-General cut the silver strands like thread. Oddly, the properties of the free-motion materia did not take affect and the landing still could not be considered gentle. Groaning, Sephiroth crumpled against a large coral wall. Each breath he drew was like swallowing Masamune. His vision blurred. His body ached. His heart pounded in his chest. It would avail him little to reclaim his beloved sword only to die shortly thereafter.

Then, salvation. His lifestream-green eyes locked on a tunnel barely ten feet away. Despite his lean frame, passing through would be an arduous task—but Sephiroth considered that a blessing. If _he_ found it difficult, it would likely be impossible for the bulky WEAPON.

A shadow fell over Sephiroth, seeming to steal his breath away. No need to look up. Drawing on reserves of strength he knew naught he had, the former SOLDIER crawled, climbed, and scraped his body along the ocean floor toward the opening. Nine feet. Seven feet. Five feet. Three feet...

Then, there it stood.

Like a building spontaneously erupting into existence, Emerald blocked his path. Had Sephiroth been one given over to cursing, a number of colorful metaphors would be issuing from his lips just now. But such anger would not assist him. In the moment it took to glance up into the green-skinned 'face' of the monster, Sephiroth resolved his course of action.

He ran straight at the creature.

Lasers exploded left and right of Sephiroth, hurling debris at his unprotected back. Each fragment that struck him sent rivulets of agony through his left side. Still, Sephiroth pressed on. As he neared the opening a massive chunk of hard-packed sediment spun directly at him. Swiping out Masamune he hacked it in half, each piece falling harmlessly to either side of him.

Then the ex-General swept underneath Emerald and into the tunnel.

Like a torch thrust into a bucket, his sight vanished immediately. Though reduced to crawling again, a smile streaked across his porcelain face. For a creature that one can only describe as the tallest building in Midgar it couldn't perform the simple act of crawling. He muttered a few words to that, prayer and thanks both.

Each of which quickly conformed to a curse as Sephiroth, his hearing preternatural since conception, unpleasantly noted rock tumbling. Emerald, discontent that his quarry escaped his clutches, smashed his considerable bulk into the cavern. Several chunks impeded his progress, only lending the infuriated WEAPON just that much more time to vent, perhaps leading to the ex-General's eventual burial.

_If I don't distract the beast, my life is forfeit. Oh, Cetra-angels of the higher reaches, give your Heir strength!_

That they did. Not strength, per say, rather ingenuity. Bending in the close quarters, the Heir stabbed a finger at the monster while his other hand caressed a golden materia sphere. He wielded the darkest art know to the Planet: Shadow Flare. Out of the shadows of every object within a ten-foot radius a beam of ivory-ebony light sprang. Ascending to an ear-shattering silence it swirled around his fist then vaulted from it, striking Emerald Weapon.

Emerald shrieked, fury and pain in one terrible note. Pinpoints of light blinded the creature, momentarily forcing it to surrender its assault. Sephiroth's eyes gleamed in murderous thrill. He'd disabled the beast—what greater service could he do for the Planet than if he eliminated the WEAPON entirely? The thought hinged on the fringes of his mind...

"_Masamune...is innocent–do not taint it!"_

...but he shoved it aside. No, Sephiroth dare not risk his mission now, no matter how high the possibility of success. Besides, he did not come to destroy life but to merely recover his blade. His gaze drifted down to the Masamune sheathed at his hip. A crown of the Cetra. Perhaps that's what the Guardian meant about tainting...slaughtering a creature that merely protected its domain...

_Let the weak, evil humans deal with this creature...is no more than what they've earned._

Never was there a more welcome sight for the ex-General than when he emerged from the tunnel. An extraordinary distance, one that left his lower body and hands bleeding. Light streamed from the sun high above, cutting through the waters. Here whole schools of fish swam, undisturbed. They knew naught of the dangerous creature lurking in the murky depths a few hundred feet from them.

Grateful to be away from the immediate threat, Sephiroth stumbled to his hands and knees. Exhausted, in body and soul, he lay on the ocean floor. Able to dismiss it no longer, the pain returned with a vengeance as if attempting to make up for time lost. Broken bones. Burnt flesh. Ruptured organs. Blood floated up from his many wounds, surfacing to the light. He smiled, though, in a maddened sort of way.

Reunited with his beloved Masamune at last...

His mission complete, the ex-General's mind began to haze...

_No! My son! Do not escape that monster only to perish by something so stupid as drowning! Mother loves you...Mother needs you...You are the Heir...Heirs do not die..._

Sleep threatened to drag him beneath the silken folds of eternity, of death. He heard the voice; understood the magnitude of the danger. Still Sephiroth smiled lazily. For some reason he couldn't parallel the two. Then, a flash of memory...of mother...of the Cetra...of his destiny. Battling fatigue, the ex-General thrust himself up through the waters. Almost nil progress due to the overloaded belt he wore. Working like an inebriated man, Sephiroth snapped loose the buckles and let the belt fall behind him.

Slowly, but surely, the former SOLDIER's body drifted heavenward. Light shined on his silver hair, affording it a celestial quality. Behind him, the materia belt descended becoming ever smaller until it vanished from sight utterly. By that time, Sephiroth broke the surface, like an angel coming home at last.

_"Not really an angel, eh?" Luke asked, grinning that stupid grin that always irked Vincent. _

_"No, but resilient. Only a man with Sephiroth's strength would have survived both the harsh terrain of the Northern Continent and an encounter with Emerald WEAPON. I marvel at the fortitude," the former-Turk sighed as he circled the dimly lit chamber. He halted dead center. "What if that power were used for good, rather than evil? What great asset the Planet would have on her hands. Ah, but such is merely wishful thinking and hardly that productive..."_

_Luke scratched his chin in a manner that somehow annoyed the ex-Turk. "Hmm. But instead it is used for destructive purposes. Twisted to evil by one's own mother—"_

_"Lucrecia was not evil!" Like a hawk descending on prey, Vincent closed in on the reporter. _

_"Ugh, ah, no. I meant Jenova. The big, ugly alien. She's the mother who polluted his soul."_

_"She's no mother of his. Lucrecia bore Sephiroth. I saw that with my own eyes. Jenova is a parasite who latched onto him. She opened the door for his damnation. But, still, it was he who walked through it." Vincent's blood-red eyes rose to the ceiling of cobwebs. "We may point fingers in the game of life but ultimately when we stand before Judgement we shall stand alone."_


	10. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Dead Men Tell No Tales_

According to the Shin-ra Statistics Department approximately eighty-five percent of the Midgarian population rode the Midgar Train. Those people appeared from all walks of life. From the garishly dressed middle-aged woman who sat directly opposite him to the sullen 'bad-ass' youth on his right, evidence of the diversity of the city could be witnessed all around. That annoyed him, to be one of Shin-ra's statistics.

A smile crept into his lips, like a snake into a chocobo's nest. Statistic? Sephiroth? Hardly. Should they be aware of who rode in their midst, the train would not be long in emptying. _Difficult to remain inconspicuous considering my notoriety or celebrity status. _Sephiroth had never really been sure how people viewed him—one moment a paragon of courage to fight the savage Wutains; another, a slaughterer of young oriental children. Like the wind, one could never tell which way the masses would swing.

Now his lips twisted, amused, an ugly expression on a beautiful porcelain face. Oh, how he longed to wreck his vengeance in this city.

The train lurched, throwing the gaudy-dressed woman to the floor. She descended into a fit of ungodly shrieking, of which no one minded. Sephiroth had long ago acclimatized himself to the eccentric behavior of Midgar's residents. He had lived among them, once.

_Not entirely truthful, that. I lived above them, beyond them. First a specimen trapped in the Shin-ra Building, then a victim of their SOLDIER indoctrination._

Aside from the brushes with the Midgar Press, his interaction with the general public was severely limited. A far preferable state of affairs than his pitiful association now. Scowling, Sephiroth shrank further within his hood and further into his cocooned mind. He heard naught the grinding of the train wheels, nor the irritable chatter among the passengers. Masamune rested under his long ebony trench coat, surprisingly soundless. Revealing its presence likely would shatter the relative calm on the train along with his hopes to maintain a low profile.

Jolting everyone but the ex-SOLDIER, the train screeched to halt. Sephiroth's glowing green eyes flew up to the dog-eared map tapped to the opposing wall. Not there yet. Another two stops. Citizens of all sort, shapes and sizes lumbered in, shoving and cursing one another. Soon after a whistle blew and the train sprang to life down the tracks.

Shin-ra Avenue, next. Midgar's most congested stop. A stinky old man plopped to the right of Sephiroth while two scantily-clad girls hung around one of the poles, chatting about "Like, this, guy, like, he's, cute, like..." while another anti-social boy gingerly dropped to an opposite seat. The constant presence of humans in all their 'glory' grated at the ex-General's nerves and he feared that, should he remain any longer here, he would not retain his composure.

Worse yet, due to sleep deprivation, Sephiroth found himself nodding off. Desperate to keep himself awake, the ex-General left his seat to roam the train. _This body needs rest, even though it is of superior quality. Patience is a virtue I must employ. _Not a virtue of much desire. When word reached him of the location of his mother's body, the ex-General abandoned all his other projects and hastened to Midgar.

Five years. Five years since the Nibelhiem Disaster as the local newspaper were wont to say. Five years since last he'd laid eyes on his matriarch. True, he'd often enough conversed with Jenova in that timeframe—still the actual sight of her would put his mind at ease. For too long he'd feared his failure at the Nibel Mako Reactor meant his eternal separation from her.

_Not long now, my beloved son. Not long before we are reunited. You shall earn your birthright and don the Crown of the Cetra. I shall see that before my days are done. _

As syrupy the words soothed his unquiet soul. He returned to find his seat already occupied, an unfortunate commonality on the Shin-ra train. Occupied now by the middle-aged woman who invited him to sit back down—on her lap. Throwing her a frosty glare, Sephiroth clamped his hand on the pole and gazed up at the advertisements, ignoring the leers his statuesque form often garnered.

Another stop. Finally, the woman left, spilling coffee on the train's floor. His footing sure, as often it was, Sephiroth sidestepped and reclaimed his seat. He again scanned the map. Just two more stops. Yawning, the ex-General drooped his head ever so slightly forward and shut his eyes...

A hand slid along his thigh.

Like that coffee splashed him, Sephiroth jerked awake. His hand instinctively searched his belt. Everything accounted for...No, not all accounted for. His money pouch was missing. Stolen, most likely. Sephiroth growled, his eyes swiftly appraising the nearest passengers. They seemed innocent enough...

His eye caught the almost imperceptible shift in light, the kind that dances off of materia.

Sephiroth rose, his hand running down Masamune.

Today would not be a good day for that thief.

Hurrying past a pair of purple-haired twins and a man who reeked of Kalm tequila, Sephiroth again noted the glint of materia. His materia, in the hands of a man sporting a silly hat. Small build. Large caramel-colored eyes. Ragged clothing. Hardly more than a child.

_Ah, but a child of sin. A child of the humans. Remember that, my son. Remember what I told you about the Crisis and her illusion. _

Yes, for disguises can be deceiving. A smirk crossed his smooth skin as Sephiroth followed the boy from boxcar to boxcar. Aware that someone shadowed his steps, the thief climbed up the ladder to the roof of the car. If he figured this would deter his pursuer he was sadly in error. Not a breath of hesitation issued forth from the ex-General as swept up and over, long silver hair whipping the wind.

Now thoroughly frightened, the robber tossed the pouch at Sephiroth. His hand shot out as if independent from his body, catching it cleanly. A mad hope to sate his pursuer's rage or a sincere effort at tripping him? Sephiroth knew naught, cared naught. What he knew, cared, was that here again stood a human determined to cross the Heir.

"Take your damn money and go!" the boy cried as he launched himself onto the next boxcar roof. His balance not nearly as sure as Sephiroth's, the thief stumbled, his hat slipping into the grinding wheels. Perhaps the sight of its destruction brought into stark reality his own danger, for the boy flattened himself to the roof.

Looking up, he stared into the deadly emerald eyes of the Wutain war veteran.

In them, he saw death. His death.

"No, please!"

It lasted mere seconds. Sephiroth speared the boy on Masamune, cutting off any protest. Blood steamed onto the roof. With a single thrust and the thief fell into the oncoming boxcar. His shriek knifed the train, effecting a chorus of cries throughout. Once the body hit the wheels it tore apart, leaving little for anyone to identify.

Shrugging, the ex-SOLDIER returned to his seat and didn't look up until the red sign stating: Shin-ra Headquarters, came into view. Then, keeping his head down and hood up, Sephiroth stepped off the train and onto the street. His menacing stare created an alley in which he could stroll right up to the wide concrete steps.

A breath, two. Then Sephiroth entered.

...

1st Floor

Sephiroth strode through the revolving glass doors, shadowing his face against the glare of the fluorescent lights. By beloved Cetra, but did her ever despise those blasted false suns! As he scanned the floor, his heart leapt in his chest, green eyes burning. Memories stormed him, a little boy of silver hair and shattered soul. Here, he'd spent fifteen years of his young life as a prisoner and a lab rat.

Like the blood of his victims, Sephiroth could almost taste vengeance on his lips. A smile danced lightly in his eyes as the ex-General confronted the front desk. The familiarity of the receptionist, who was by no means young, edged on the fringes of his mind. Ah...yes...the absent-minded young woman who'd let him out all those years ago. And though he'd not escaped that night, that one naïve act now played in her favor.

"Hello. Shin-ra Headquarters, please hold." Her slim glasses slid down her nose as she glanced up at Sephiroth. "Oh, who are you? Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes. With the President."

Her eyes fell to the clipboard. "Hmm. I'm sorry, he's not seeing any one today..."

"He'll see me." Lightning-quick, the former SOLDIER's fingers stole around the green materia on Masamune's pommel. Bright violet light cradled the receptionist. She squealed, her clipboard dropping to the marble floor. Before the body could follow, Sephiroth scooped the receptionist up and set her across the paper-strewn desk.

A hand tiptoed on the Masamune...then stopped. True, though the same vile blood of humans coursed her veins, yet the ex-General couldn't go through with impaling her. Her unintentional benevolence stayed his hand. Besides, Sephiroth reasoned that a slumbering receptionist was less likely to arouse alarm in security than a dead one would.

Flipping through the mounds of papers, Sephiroth assimilated the knowledge with his mako-enhanced photographic memory. They supplied their front-line clerk with surprisingly little information. Not so unlikely, considering the lack of data sent to even one as senior as the High Commander. Frowning, the ex-General grimly recalled the destruction of a ship and seventy-nine passengers—the result of President Shin-ra's inability to inform Sephiroth of the vessel's explosives.

_Keep your mind on task, my son. _

The reprimand lured his mind out of path of the past and onto the highway of the present. In one minute, he cracked her login; in two, her password. With abnormal speed, Sephiroth delved through the programs, noting the locations of Upper Management and the Heads of Department—Science, Weapons, Urban, etc. Nearly every single code that he was privy to as the High Commander remained in effect. That corporate oversight would make his job easier. Still it irked Sephiroth, who simply could not stand such foolishness.

_Remember, Sephiroth. These are humans. They are stupid, weak, inferior creatures. _

Inclining his head, the ex-General snatched up the Receptionist's keycard and made his way to the elevator.

...

68th Floor

A _ding _and the elevator doors slid open. A dozen Military Police roamed the corridor, completely obvious to the newest arrival. The ex-General assessed the threat, determined it minimal and hurried across the floor with his cowl up. No one bothered to question him. Likely accustomed to a myriad of people coming and going, they thought nothing of yet another employee on business.

Possessing of vast knowledge, most of it trivial, Sephiroth easily recalled the patterns of the guards. Waiting until the security swapped, the ex-General knocked out the on-shift guard and dragged him to a corner of the monitor station. He tapped at the console. The computer beeped, then his fingers pressed a complex series of buttons and the screen blinked to life.

Women's Washroom. A side view of a stall. Sephiroth chuckled, amused. Hardly any surprise that his comatose friend was a pervert. Most of the security team abused their privileges. Tap. The view screen flickered then displayed a dimly-lit study quarter. The Shin-ra Library. Of no value to him at the moment. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Ah, there you are," murmured Sephiroth. "Like an ant scuttling across a page that is unaware that the cover is soon to be shut."

Like the insect the ex-General so described, Hojo scurried from desk to pod, collecting samples of blood, urine, and other liquids Sephiroth didn't dare identify. By no means alone, protected by two Shin-ra guards within and three outside, still such would pose no problem for the likes of the Heir. Eliminating the guards might in fact prove a worthy appetizer to the entrée that was Hojo.

And the gleam in Sephiroth's eyes was hot indeed.

Like a fugitive facing execution, he tore up the stairs and through the hallway. At regular intervals, Shin-ra guards warded various corridors and antechambers leading up to the laboratory. Tempted to slice a path of crimson, still the master materia-wielder held his rage in check. Easily they would fall to his blade, but then what would result? Detection, undoubtedly. Detected undesired.

The few guards unfortunate enough to necessitate watering his blade died quietly enough. His mind hardly registered their deaths, even as their lifefluid stained the metallic floor like rivers of melted roses. Stepping under a walkway, the ex-General passed by another set of stations. If his memory didn't deceive him, the door to the Laboratory stood only a few feet...

There. The door.

Ecstatic, Sephiroth drove six feet of steel at six tons of metal.

Not surprisingly, it didn't penetrate.

"Damn you, Hojo," the former SOLDIER swore under his breath. A stream of obscenities then issued forth, such that was uncommon for him. Sephiroth had little use for cursing, seeing it as a cheap attention-stealer by someone who wouldn't be note-worthy otherwise. At this particular juncture, however, his patience wore away to near breaking point.

Far be it from Sephiroth to hang his head and admit defeat. Not one accustomed to such, instead he fruitlessly slammed Masamune against the door. Reason eventually overrode his momentary mental lapse and the ex-General stepped back to assess his options. Turn back? Not among them. Still, ramming his body and blade at the six tons of metal had proved thus far unrewarding.

"Damnation. For almost ten years I slaved to escape that miserable, human-infested room and now, here I am, unable to get myself back in." He could hardly stand the irony. Sephiroth clenched a fist, willing the stain of red-rage to dissipate from his emerald eyes. Vengeance unsatisfied often made for poor health—for him, that is. For anyone else, his inability to vent usually spared their health, and lives.

_My dear, if you simply must enter then use your vastly-superior mind to get through that door._

_Mother, how do I accomplish that? No amount of higher intelligence will break it down._

Like a vibration in his head, Sephiroth heard laughter. Amused. Chiding. Condescending.

_No, my son. I said 'bring down' not 'break down'. Surely one of the guards has a key..._

Such simple logic. _Mother, you are much wiser than I am. I must take after my father's side..._

Father's side...Had he not a patriarch? One of the halves of the whole that created him? Sephiroth staggered back, suddenly ill. Why did that not occur to him before? Each person had both a mother and father. His father...

_No! No father. Only I. Put that out of your mind. It's...human thinking._

As quickly as the thought seized the materia warrior, it fled, like gentle mist over a morning horizon. Mother was right. Mother was always right. Demi-gods needed no sire. A Cetra owned no individual family, not even Jenova herself. The superior race belonged to one another, as one entity. Thinking otherwise was sheer malfeasance...sheer humanity.

Like so much dust, Sephiroth swept the disgraceful introspection under the carpet of his mind. Rather, the ex-General concentrated on a solution. His calculating intellect cycled through a number of possible scenarios. Taking a hostage would prove so much easier, but then that would alert the guards whom, in turn, would clear half the building long before Sephiroth would reach the Laboratory.

Like a flash of lightning, the answer hit him. Returning back to the antechamber, he hurried through the hallway. The bodies of the three guards he'd slain lay there still, still in death. Genuflecting, Sephiroth smeared a generous helping of blood on his smooth black cloak. Then he ripped a hole in his left selve and slit his right pant leg. To these, the ex-General administered more of the sticky crimson liquid. Satisfied, Sephiroth took off again.

Several minutes passed before two Military Police approached his position. Clearly, security had discovered the slumbering Receptionist, for the two muttered among themselves about the firing of a front desk clerk. Fortunate, for her. Had she remained, Sephiroth was unsure of how to retain his composure should his venture amount to failure. At last, the two drew close. Hoping his theatrics would suffice, Sephiroth 'stumbled' in their path and let out an overly dramatic groan.

"Are you hurt...sir?" the taller one asked.

Sephiroth pierced the man with his glaring green eyes. "Oh, no. Don't worry. I'm only bleeding to death."

After a quick glance of confusion to one another, the two rushed over to assist. As their hands encircled his arms, a wave of distaste surged through Sephiroth's body. Natural instinct despising human touch shrieked in his head. He endured it. Such would aid his purpose. As they hauled the ex-General to his feet, they whispered back and forth. It amazed Sephiroth that it did not occur to them that, despite referring to him in the third-person, his hearing allowed him to note everything they said.

"Oh, Ronnie, isn't this...you know..."

"Sephiroth? It can't be..."

"No, this is him. I remember the picture on the Shin-ra Bulletin Board. Six foot in height. Long silver hair. Green eyes..."

"Dave, Sephiroth is dead."

The sheer stupidity of the situation forced Sephiroth words out his mouth. "If I am dead, how is that I'm still breathing, standing here before you?"

Neither answered, mouths gapped in astonishment.

Swiping the long, bloodstained silver strands out of his face, the former SOLDIER trudged on toward Hojo's lab. "Come on. Come on. There are places I need to be. If you hesitate and thus kill me, I swear on my mother's grave I will come back and haunt the both of you."

That hurried their feet along. Each acted as crutches to assist the 'wounded general' up the stairs. While they traveled, Sephiroth concocted a tale about some assassins, dressed as Shin-ra guards, attempting to do him in. He, being the most powerful man on the Planet, made short work of them. Still, others from behind managed a few blows, resulting in his current blood loss. Those, too, he dispatched, right before Ronnie and Dave arrived.

He needed an answer to bodies. He had it. He needed a way to enter the Lab. Again, he had it. A neat little predicament that solved itself.

"The door, human."

"What? Human...?"

"Never mind. Give me your keycard."

He balked, face white as snow--before it hit Midgar's paved streets that is. "But, sir, you're the General. Don't you have a keycard?"

"Fool! Do you think that in my fight with three assassins I'd keep a hold of a keycard?"

"Assassins?" Now Ronnie cast his eyes about, as if expecting said assassins to leapt out and cut his throat. "Are there more? Shouldn't we alert the President—"

"No!"

That truly bewildered the guards. The gears worked in their head attempting to decipher that logic.

Composing himself, Sephiroth managed his most benign smile. "No. I'll report to the President myself once I deem it necessary. I'd hardly think Mr. Shin-ra has time for the likes of you two." His smile twisted, amused. "You will return to your posts. Remain silent about everything that has occurred since you encountered me." If Sephiroth's order confused them, the guards concealed it. They disappeared down the corridor with nary a look back.

Sighing happily, Sephiroth slid the red-striped keycard across the card reader. For a second it continued to flash read. Then, green. The door swung open. The stench of scientific materials and the dim light rushed into the void as if desperate to escape the chamber in which it had been captive. Sephiroth's breath caught in his throat. Here he stood, on the threshold of his former prison, to finally repay the years of abuse to that fell-minded scientist. The ex-General could hardly contain himself.

Of all the solids, liquids and gases orbiting the Planet few could be considering more luminescent than a Super Nova. Yet Sephiroth's eyes burned brighter still as they scanned the chamber. No Hojo. No, the only occupant of the room was another scientist. A taller man, with curly brown hair, and a healthier build. He currently hunched over a petri dish, prodding the organisms with a needle.

"Hello, Professor Berinstein."

"What in blazes—who! You!" The professor choked, his hold on the dish so precarious that at the sight of the master swordsman it fell from his hands. A thousand pieces shined on the floor, unnoticed by either man. "You...You're dead!"

"So, I've been told." Sephiroth laid his right hand on his left chest. "I'm starting to question my health. Tell me, Professor, do I look dead to you?"

"No, no, but—Guards!" Overwhelmed, the scientist abandoned all sense of dignity and bodily threw himself at the door. "Let me go! Let me go! What do you want out of a poor old man like me!?"

A forefinger curled as a mini-zolom under the ex-General's chin. "That's a most excellent question, Professor. What ever will I do with you?" He took to pacing. His words dripping with venom. "I'll tell you a story. One about an innocent child trapped in room, as you are now, put to inhuman—"A chuckle as cold as ice issued from Sephiroth's mouth. "No, put to very _human_ experiments and tortured for no other reason than because his captor could."

For as long as Sephiroth lived—and inheriting godhood would make that long indeed—he would never forget those awful memories. Eyeing the scientist greedily, the ex-General snapped up the blade and drove it into the professor's chest. Berinstein twisted, but there was no escaping the blade.

"No, please..." the scientist muttered as he gurgled up blood. "It's Hojo you want..."

"Oh, don't worry, he'll end up on my sword soon enough. Just consider yourself lucky that I'm in such a good mood today."

"Oh...how...so...?"

"I could have made your death a very painful ordeal."

Once the scientist breathed his last, Sephiroth planted a black boot on his chest and hauled Masemune out. The body slumped over. Blood stained the floor a bright crimson. Sighing, the ex-General proceeded to vent his fury in the laboratory. A table cut in two for all the times he'd endured 'examination'. A shattered pod for his captivity. A destroyed cabinet for all the needles jabbed into his arms.

_And a dead professor for all the times I've suffered humiliation and agony for the betterment of the human race. _Masemune cut cleanly through a row of canisters of green goo, splattering their contents across the ruined examination table. Still unsatisfied, the former SOLDIER lifted his blade, eyes flashing, for another strike—

_Enough!_

The voice ripped into his head with the asperity of a thunderclap, staying his hand and setting his heart aflutter. In such a violent state of mind, Sephiroth had to forcibly lower Eskallanilna. His breathing shallow, he responded via telepathy. _But, Mother, I hate it all so much...The memories keep coming back...the things they did to me...the scars...the pain...the abuse..._

_Do you not love your mother? _

_No, Mother! I mean, yes, yes, I love you! Forgive me. It's these emotions...I can't help but feel—_

_You have no emotions, no feelings, my child. Those humans thought to chain you down with their frailties. Rise above them. _A pause. Sephiroth waited with bated breath_. Listen to me. You are the last of a dying race. The last of the Cetra kin on the Planet. Together we can make all the wrongs, right, take the planet back. Maybe, one day, the Cetra can return..._

As if diving into a waterfall, the Heir drowned in her words, her tender voice. It was a wondrous feeling. She wrapped him in love and guidance and he drew upon her like a man relying on Wutain weed. No one else but Mother cared for him. Sephiroth had spent his childhood alienated, abused. His teen years and adulthood were little better, what with the superficial love the masses afforded him.

_Now, come, to the warehouse and free me!_

_I'm coming, Mother! _Still drowning in her sweet song, the ex-SOLDIER abandoned the laboratory and rushed down the hall. Ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his mother again, Sephiroth nearly missed the elevators. Impatient, he tapped the UP button and swept in almost the instant it arrived. A gloved finger punched the 67th floor button while his other hand jabbed the keycard in the slot. It lit up and away he went.

...

67th Floor

Much like the other floors, the ex-General encountered little resistance. Only two Military Police and a guard, all of which met a swift demise at the end of his blade. More humans determined to prevent his reunion with Jenova. No child should be kept from his mother. But, then, that was just like the humans. Divide and conquer. After learning of the disease the humans inflicted on the Cetra while they posed as friends, did the Heir really expect any sense of fair play?

Danger...

The ex-General halted in mid-step. He'd been approaching the Scientific Pod Station # 2 when the tingling sensation lifted the hairs on his arms. Something was not quite right. Memories of his unauthorized exploration of the Shin-ra Building fringed on his consciousness demanding attention. On a hunch, he dislodged a materia orb from Masemune's hilt and hurled it a few feet straight ahead.

Like bars of transparent mako, three emerald lasers sprang from one wall to the other.

Had he not listened to his instincts, the Heir would likely be incinerated. Even a would-be demi-god could not hope to survive thousands of volts of manufactured electricity. He tossed a couple more materia spheres to decipher the pattern, and then sped past them once they retracted. A normal man would never have cleared the distance but such was his physical prowess that the maneuver was a snap. He picked up the orbs and jotted them back in.

Silently, he slipped among the piles of HANDLE WITH CARE boxes and crates. Still, he needed not have bothered with stealth. No one warded the storage area and he continued past an archway unhindered. More bureaucratic idiocy. No surprise there. If his experiences dealing with the company taught him anything, it was the sheer disorganization and lack of proper delegation it entailed. Common sense was a concept too utterly foreign for them to apply to even the most significant of tasks.

If his heart sang before now it cried a note of beauty and sound as he turned to face the pod. The green of the mako flashed against the green of his eyes. Though many years had past since last the materia warrior gazed upon his mother, his memory did not deceive him. Still, that lovely sapphire-skinned face, those unworldly eyes, that exotic majesty. Still, that nameplate rested on her forehead like a crown of thorns.

Ten fingers touched the cool glass, imploring it to break as surely as his heart now did.

"Mother..."

With all the rage and pain of over thirty years, he slammed a fist onto the smooth surface. It did not yield. Sephiroth growled, sliding Eskallanilna out of its sheath. Gripping the pommel tightly, the Heir yanked it backward then rushed forward, striking the glass. It imploded inward, sending a wave of aquamarine fluid onto the floor.

Of singular mind, Sephiroth tore the head off. Bolts shot from the severed cords but he paid them no heed. Much like his walk through the flames, the ex-General strode through the sticky liquid and around the volatile electricity, unharmed. Her voice melted into his mind, prompting him to smile and laugh with joy.

_Sephiroth, my beloved child, thank you. Now, our task is not yet done here..._

The ex-General spoke as he skipped a puddle. "No, indeed not, Mother. The head of the snake looms, his hissing tongue injecting poison into the Planet. President Russell Shin-ra sits on a throne made with the blood, sweat and tears of our people. Time for his tower to fall."

A pause...

_Yes, him too. But did you forget the clone? My son, he is the key. We need him for the Reunion, remember? The fool has gotten himself captured. You must free him to ensure he will come. _

A frown creased the Heir's beautiful facial features. _Ah, yes...Must we help him? Surely if he were worthy of us the pitiful creature would clear his own path...What is our need of him, anyway? You never did tell me. _Jealously surged through him. Why didn't Mother depend him to accomplish the tasks? Did Mother love the clone more than him?

Jenova answered his thoughts, as she often did. _My dear sweet child, I love you. Never doubt that. This clone is a mere tool. You are the Heir, the one who will rule the Planet. He will serve his purpose then perish, like all the others. Dismiss such human fears and do as your mother bids._

Though his mother's words stemmed the tide of jealously, it did not dispel it entirely. Back at the Crater, Jenova had vaguely described her plan for the restoration of the Cetra people. None of the details seemed to include the clone. Her desire for the clone's rescue made no sense to Sephiroth whatsoever.

Retreating back the way he came, Sephiroth kept a hand on both Masemune and Mother. Again, he skillfully evaded the laser beams and turned a corner. As he walked down the poorly illuminated hallway, his fear over Mother's true intents for the clone haunted him. At first, the idea of the clones as convoys and meat shields appealed to him. This required action seemed...suspicious.

Sephiroth carefully concealed those thoughts under a layer of affection for Jenova. Mother had an unerring ability to drill into his skull with excruciating pain. Inflicting agony on one's own child defied the protocol as a parent, yet that might only be human thinking. After all, humans grew up weak and evil; why would he want to be raised by such means if that should be his fate?

At last, the Heir arrived at the holding station. The company had placed a single guard there, and like the prisoners, he was fast asleep. Regret stabbed at the former SOLDIER. When he headed the army, Sephiroth employed a system of honor—no taking hostage, no raping prisoners, etc. Killing a man in his sleep was hardly honorable.

Of course, that part of his life had ended. This pitiful specimen was human, and, thus, expendable. Quietly and cleanly, the Heir slid his blade through the man's ribs. The guard perished without ever opening his eyes. Then, Sephiroth detached a chain of rusted keys from the man's belt, ignoring the blood dripping from the red Shin-ra logo.

Not wanting to waste a single second on this errand, he tried all the keys on the door to Strife's cell. A slight click sounded at the last one. Satisfied, the ex-General tossed the keys on the guard. If the clone willed his friends free, he'd have to do so himself. Sephiroth was eager to head after President Shin-ra. Each moment he waited he feared that Russell would escape.

Turning on heel, Sephiroth's eyes caught the flash of a materia orb. He stopped, puzzled. There was something peculiar about that light—glinting not as materia normally should. His green-as-lifestream eyes landed on the cell adjacent to Cloud's. Inside the dank, smelly room, a girl with brown tresses lay on a pallet. Sephiroth gasped almost inaudibly. By the Cetra, he knew her...!

_Yes, Sephiroth, it is her._

As if his hands had a mind of their own, they snatched up the keys. He opened the door silently, eyes locked on the girl's lovely face. Sephiroth could hardly stay his hands from touching her. When Mother showed him the image of her, the ex-General had anticipated that it was not a true representation of the original. That the girl would have scars, blemishes, _anything._ She did not. She was perfect.

_Stay away from her! _Jenova's voice came shrieking into his mind. _She's the Crisis! She's evil!_

_She's also beautiful. _Despite his handsome face and features, Sephiroth engaged in very little romance. He'd found the entire idea dreadful. Why open your heart to someone who can so easily hand it back to you in a thousand pieces? Still, the thought of a one-night-stand didn't appeal to him either. The whole situation was rather ironic, considering the number of formal and indecent proposals he'd received.

Here, now, lay a young woman who the Heir guessed to be a virgin. She was delightfully lithe and lovely. The ex-General's hands again betrayed him, seeking her hair. Soft. Delicate. Those fingers trailed down to her cheek. Also soft. Warm. What would it feel like, to take her? It had been so long since he'd experienced the warmth of a young woman's body...

_Damn it! If you must have her, then do it and be done with it!_

That voice was as a slap to the face. Startled, Sephiroth straightened. What had he been about to do? He may have abandoned many of his human values since his realization of his origins, yet surrendering to his urge, raping the young woman, was on a level of evil he abhorred. Killing the guard ensured his anonymity; deflowering the girl accomplished nothing.

_No...That serves no purpose..._He paused, considering something. _Shouldn't I kill her?_

Again, that grating sound in his head._ No! The Vision dictates that she must live. If you kill her now our plans will surely fail. Trust me, Sephiroth. _

_As always._ The silver-haired manleft the cell and lifted the keys. _Lock or not? _

_Lock it. I need to test something later._

Shrugging, Sephiroth turned the key in the lock. _Click._ He returned the chain to the guard, sticking them in his coat pocket. Then the Heir hurried down the hallway. Blood pounded in his veins. His revenge was at hand. Leaving a trail of blood glistening the floor, he darted into the elevator and pressed the 70th button.

...

70th Floor

At last. He stood but a few feet from the President's private boardroom.

Every step he took sounded harsh in the ex-SOLDIER's ears. Yet he didn't stop, or slow down. If anything, the pace increased, until Sephiroth could touch the solid surface. This was it. A moment he'd envisioned for so long. President Shin-ra had agreed, no, insisted, on the use of Mako infusions on SOLDIERs. It was he that commissioned the Jenova Project. Indeed, the head of snake.

Sephiroth slammed his fists against the cold steel. Unyielding. With strength such as his, the door would not last long against his assault, but how much noise would result? If the disappointing scene at the Laboratory was any indication, the President could probably make hasty his retreat, avoiding the warm welcome Sephiroth had planned for him.

His green eyes gleamed. _Yes, a welcome I simply can not allow him to miss._

Moonlight made less sound than the ex-General as he hastened up a set of steps. Arriving at a landing, Sephiroth shoved back the patio doors. Sharp and swift the wind slashed at his face, forcing him to bend as he peered over the railing. Hundreds of feet downward, the city lights burned, people scurried across the streets, business boomed as usual. Should he will it, the fall alone would kill him, lest of all the crash upon the merciless pavement.

Nothing could be colder than Sephiroth's laughter. Not the wind. Not the air. Not the entire Northern Continent.

"...Keep them under observation. I want them questioned once the Professor returns to his office. And I—"

"President Shin-ra, I'm so sorry to interrupt but there has been a disturbance downstairs—"

"Arrest the perpetrator and confine him to the same quarters as the Avalanche members. Now, get out of my sight. I have an important meeting to attend to."

_Yes, Russell, you do. _

With a deft hand, Sephiroth stripped the curtains off the window. His experience in the Gongaga jungles and the Nibel Mountains taught the former SOLDIER resourcefulness. Three minutes later, he fashioned a makeshift rope. Securing it on the railing, he tugged twice. Then, breathing lightly, Sephiroth swung over the balcony and dangled his body down.

Up. Down. For a span of a heartbeat, distance, dimension and direction merged in one sickening jumble. He'd forgotten how much he detested the mountain climbing exercise. _I must remind myself to employ less drastic, and dramatic, methods next time. _The sensation swiftly ended as he shattered the floor-to-ceiling window of President Shin-ra's private office.

As a thousand tiny dying stars, glass rained on desk and several nearby guards. Shots rang out, each of which Sephiroth deflected with Masamune and sent into the hearts of their owners. One. Two. Three. Four...Five bodies hit the floor, blood spilling like summon materia that's been melted. The President screamed, as loud as the breaking glass, descending into a state of shock.

"Please, please, don't hurt me...Please..."

Landing lightly on his feet, Sephiroth kicked a pane of glass out of his path. The moonlight shone as silver daggers through his hair, as midnight fingers through the cloak the former Head of SOLDIER flicked over his shoulder. Wind billowed both, affording him a threatening, powerful quality all the more so with the deadly Eskallanilna blade resting in his hand. Like the Angel of Death, he strode over to the President's table, eyes never leaving Russell's.

_Bang. _

Masamune came up in a blinding arch, cutting the bullet in half.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. President." Sephiroth waved his forefinger. "That's hardly a way to greet an old friend."

Russell whimpered as he dropped the gun back into its drawer. Babbling, he fled as fast as his stubby legs would carry him toward the room's sole door. A door that sealed shut a moment later as Eskallanilna flew through the air and slammed into its lock. After several ineffectual tugs, the corpulent President of Shin-ra slumped his back against it, crestfallen.

That door wasn't coming open any time soon.

Yawning, Sephiroth eased his lean frame into the President's expensive leather chair and propped his feet. A ring of smoke rose from a cigarette the former SOLDIER lit. Sephiroth had little use for the human triviality, one that, if you believed the Science Department, led to a number of abnormalities. Still, when one is in Midgar, one must do as Midgarians do.

"Russell Shin-ra, why so eager to leave? I was rather hoping we could...talk."

The President's voice was startlingly strong. "What do you want, Sephiroth?"

"Talk. Like I said." With obvious distaste, the ex-General squat the cigar into the ashtray. "There's so much I want to hear—I need to hear...and you're going to tell me."

In a hypnotic moment deceiving the eye into unawareness, Sephiroth slid over to the steel door. Delicately he removed the blade and balanced it directly at the President. Spellbound, Russell stepped away, face torn by raw fear. Ever pressing forward, Sephiroth guided him to the chair. A less than benign shove and the President stumbled into the chair.

"Now, why don't we start at the beginning..." Circling until he came to a full stop in front of the desk, Sephiroth laid Masamune across the strewn papers. A peace offering, of sorts, as such between warring nations. Russell's eyes widened as he gazed at his own reflection in the steel mirror of the blade.

"...We...You...I...Don't...Know..."

Sephiroth masterfully sifted through the incoherent splurge. Much he knew already; some he did not. The confirmation of his origins tore at his insides, but the former SOLDIER concealed even the slightest shadow of torment. None could be allowed to witness the distress of the Heir. No, now Sephiroth savored the sweet cup of inflicted fear; drank of the terror in Russell's eyes.

His fingers trailed lazily along the impeccable length of Eskallanilna. The sight elicited more information from the President. Eventually, he sputtered the last tid-bit of his knowledge. Russell's pudgy hand stole over to the pack of cigarettes but the ex-General knocked them off the table to land in a heap of shattered glass and ribbons of blood.

"That's a disgusting habit, don't you agree?"

Nodding, the President whispered, voice harsh from both extreme anxiety and over-smoking, "You have what you want, now go and leave me be."

Two black-gloved hands dropped to the tabletop. "Whoever said I had what I came for?"

"Names! I can give you names! Of the heads of the Science Department—"

"I have all those." A hand cut through the air, a gesture of dismissal. "No, there's something else I have coming looking for."

In the obese condition the President suffered, it amazed Sephiroth that he hadn't yet suffered cardiac arrest. As it was, Russell gave a singularly satisfying start. "No! Then, what? Money? I have money! Here, lots of gil and materia..." Hauling out his designer wallet, Russell flung bank notes and gil coins at Sephiroth as if to shield himself from the deathblow.

"A paltry sum," Sephiroth muttered as his fingers fiddled through the pile. "Not nearly enough to sate the damage you inflicted upon me."

Desperate, President Shin-ra hurried through the fat wallet to reach his checkbook. "Name your price, then. A million gil? I could wire it through the bank of your choice and—"

"Not enough."

"What, then? A billion gil? I could manage if you let me assemble my assets..." His voice trailed off as he looked up to see the materia warrior shake his head of silver hair.

"My god, man, what would make you happy?"

"Your head."

"My—No!"

In one fluid motion, the former SOLDIER snatched up his blade and slid behind Russell. The President jerked but a hand clamped down his shoulder. "Don't move, else I decide to give you a mouth where your throat use to be."The squirming stopped. "...Do you not see? There are by no means in which you can absolve yourself of the hurt you've caused me. Not all the money in Midgar, not all gil on the Planet. I shall transcend mortality and embrace this birthright you have forced upon me." He halted, deep in thought. "In fact, in a way, I suppose I should be grateful to you—after all, not everyone is conceived to be a god."

"Does that mean you'll let me go?"

"Does a man thank someone who burnt down his house but ending up collecting insurance more than the house is worth?'

"...Yes?"

Laughter, mired in madness, filled the room. It swirled around and around much like the wind that flooded from the massive cavity in the window. Sephiroth's mind sunk into the endless moments of torment prorogated by this very man. His cruel birth. His isolation, indoctrination. All of it, to sate the avarice of a man who dismissed his anguish as mere advancement.

A smile. "Yes."

Then Sephiroth plunged six-feet of pure steel through the man's spine. Comical, it was, to witness the relief written across Shin-ra's face only to have it vanish a second later as the pain reached his brain. Salient like a spear, life-fluid gushed onto the ex-General's chest. The sight of it prompted him to laugh so hard his cheeks and sides hurt.

"None can know of my ascension...and as you well know, dead men tell no tales."

Sephiroth laughed all the way down the elevators of the Shin-ra Building.

_"And thus began the tale of Sephiroth's bloody revenge. A long, sad tale, one wroth with confusion and hubris. If only..." Vincent's voice trailed off._

_"If only...You say that a lot." Luke noted as he stretched. _

_"...I have many regrets."_

_"Like...?"_

_The ex-Turk glowered. "Like this interview, for one."_

_"Oh..." Luke's eyes widened, as if uncertain how to take that. Shrugging, the reporter bypassed it altogether, his cheery voice rattling on. "I'm sure there's plenty more."_

_"Plenty more?" The frown deepened. Indeed, the former member of Avalanche had many reasons to wish a Time-travelling materia existed, but he didn't appreciate having that thrown in his face. He contained the anger, though, determined to keep Chaos beneath the surface. It would be a shame to kill the reporter merely for a misunderstanding._

_That is, after all, what Sephiroth often did. Kill, for even a slight. _

_"Yes, many, many regrets. It is, after all, my fault that this story did not have happy ending."_

_"Oh, how so?"_

_"Had I stepped into Sephiroth's life when he was still a child, things might have been quite different."_

_Luke bounced up and down, excited. "I guess so!"_

_Weary, Vincent turned his back to the reporter. He desired to keep his feelings hidden, to conceal his grief. "That, unfortunately, is only wishful thinking. Like the hope of the robber to escape, or of Bernstein's, or the President's. We are all damned. Remember how I mentioned judgement?"_

_"Yes, yes?"_

_"I, too, stand alone."_


	11. The Story of Sephiroth: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Of Serpents and Shadows

One. _Slash_. Two. _Slash, Slash._ Three. _Slash, Slash, Slash_.

Sephiroth inhaled.

_Again. _

Sephiroth exhaled. "I know the routine. No instructions necessary."

_Very well._

One. Forward cut. Two. Downward cut. Three. Upward cut.

_You're improving. The katas come swifter and with more vigor. _

"Thank you, Mother," he said as his fingers tip-toed Masamune. Sunlight fractured from the treetops above and danced down its length. Physical communication annoyed his Mother, but from time to time the former SOLDIER resorted to it in hopes of restoring some normalcy to his life. That, and if the anti-social man would admit it, he longed to hear any voice aside from that of the wind. He kept that musing to himself though, knowing how much it would displease his volatile matriarch.

_I've tarried here too long_ he thought _my mind is starting to fray._

_Yes, my son. You seem too eager to delay our mission with pointless pondering. _

_And don't you think waving a hand at the masses to alert the clone is pointless as well?_

Spinning his sword into a firm grip, Sephiroth resumed his training. That last retort had been unintentional and especially not meant for his Mother's hearing. Yet it couldn't be helped—either of it. Travel outside of Midgar and into the forest beyond grated on the ex-general's nerves. It had never occurred to him how dangerous monotony and isolation could be.

Like a million blades, Sephiroth stabbed the sword in the air, finishing with a swift sideways thrust. A slight sheen of sweat trickled down his shoulder blades, bare back exposed to the warm afternoon sun. Sephiroth preferred to train topless as it afforded him more maneuverability. In the past, that lack of dress annoyingly drew the attention of the masses, particularly of the female persuasion. Fortunately, his scowl sent them fleeing more often than not.

At last, the materia warrior drove Masamune cleanly into the grass and plopped down beside her. Shaded by a tree, he planted his back to the bark and plucked an apple from the branch above. Sephiroth's mind wandered the many avenues of memory as his tongue probed the fruit's green outer coating. The humans seemed to know exactly how to torture him. When he longed for solitude the cameras kept on clicking but when he desired companionship they deserted him…

_Why do you humans always seek to torment me so? _

_Must you always whine like that?_

So startled was he by the mental intrusion that the swordsman flung the half-eaten apple into the near-by river. It dropped with a slight splash. He'd thought too loudly again. Such irreverent thoughts. Yet how could he not think them? How could she not understand his malcontent? They'd been at odds because of her insistence at him popping into the public eye for the sake of the clone.

The shadow of the tree masking the shadow in his mako-green eyes, Sephiroth slipped his trench coat on. Then the ex-general made his way to the river, carrying his personal effects (and the canister containing his Mother) with him. Sephiroth dipped his hands into the clear liquid and splashed his face. Droplets fell from his chin. The water was cold but he'd not had the chance to bathe since leaving Kalm town a few days ago in his efforts to remain hidden. Not that Sephiroth feared the rubbish of either commoner or clone but the constant forced sightings wore on his patience. No one else warranted such exceptions? Why this clone…this…Cloud…?

_We've been through this before _came Mother's stringent voice.

_Yes, we most certainly have. And we'll go through again and again until I am satisfied with your answer._

_Why the jealously? You know you are far dearer to me than this clone. He is a means to an end and he will be ended as soon as he has served his purpose. _A pause_. Why are you lonely, my son? Have you forgotten our glorious plan to find the Promised Land and bring back the Cetra people? Then, you will never be lonely again…_

Sephiroth didn't deign to answer. His eyes remained cast upon the unsteady image of his face on the water. Then, that gaze was drawn to a bird dipping low. Rapt, the ex-general watched it bank over the waterfall connected to the river and soar high into the clouds until it shrank to nothingness. For a moment, the former SOLDIER felt in commune with the creature. How often had he longed to fly from the chains of the life forced upon him?

Sighing, he at last responded. "And how are we supposed to accomplish that, Mother? How do we find the Promised Land? Sprout wings and fly to it?" The more the materia warrior contemplated that notion the more he liked it. "Such are powers I do not possess. What a pitiful Heir I am! An Heir to a broken line, a lost legacy!"

_Sephiroth…_

But her plea fell upon deaf ears. Softly Sephiroth's voice echoed, as if through the end of time, "I want to be free…Free to fly above the ills of the Planet. How high can I fly? And can I even fall…?" As the words left his lips, the former SOLDIER abandoned the river bank. As one inebriated he stumbled toward the rushing waterfall.

Like Seto frozen upon the brink of Cosmo Mountain, Sephiroth stood on the outcropping. One foot embraced the empty air. A single step separated him from plunging the fifty or so feet. Would he rise as that bird inches from surface or crash beneath the dark depths? How could Mother claim him worth of the crown of the Cetra? What if he was _not_ worthy?

_Sephiroth! What in the name of the Planet are you doing?_

The sun struck his eyes as Sephiroth lifted his head. "Heirs can't die…Can they, Mother?"

He took that step.

As the former general extended his arms spread-eagle, his cloak billowed as a host of ravens following his descent. Wind rushed his face. The noise of the crashing waves invited him as the materia warrior closed in on them. A most marvelous sensation, like riding the top of a box car on the Midgar Train. For so long he felt stagnate, cutting himself just to see if he still lived. Ah, he was living now…

Not for much longer, however. That hit him as he hit the water. What lack of logic dictated his actions this time; when had that logic dried up and the folly flowed? Often Sephiroth did things not conducive to his health, but leaping off cliffs for the sheer desire to feel something had never been one of them. He sank further into the depths, the dark waters stabbing him like endless origami.

_Damn you, Sephiroth! Have you taken leave of your senses? What are you trying to prove? That you can't be killed?… I assure you even a Cetra can die from such foolishness!_

His lifestream-shaded eyes popped open. Light cut through the waters. His own unconscious efforts? A physical manifestation breathed to life from his will to survive? Sephiroth's limbs flailed, fighting to reach the surface. As he did so, his foot landed on something solid. Startled, the ex-general glanced down. There was his foot, suspended on insubstantial liquid as if planted squarely upon a step.

_Now you see my doubtful son. Witness the birthright of your ancestors!_

To the master swordsman's utter amazement, his feet continued to meet resistance. Joy coursing his veins like mako pumped directly into his bloodstream, Sephiroth burst through the surface with a terrific splash. He swung his head from side to side, silver hair fanning out like a starlit curtain. Once he emerged entirely, more shocking revelations awaited him.

As if on a slab of stone, Sephiroth stood upon the glimmering waters.

_Mother…This can't be…_

_Yes, Sephiroth, it can. Too long you've denied your heritage. Embrace the power of the Cetra!_

Sephiroth flung back his head and laughed. Power teemed at his very core. Normal mortal restrictions no longer chained him down. His hand floated up and outward as if to a flower. He took a step, then another, a slight splash accompanying each. The moment felt surreal, yet he knew it be utterly real. He was literally walking on the water.

The image of the crystalline staircase sprang into his mind's eye. Smiling, the materia warrior lifted a foot in the air. That smile deepened when it encountered solidity as he anticipated. This time, Sephiroth did not hesitate. Up and up he went, higher and higher. An onlooker would rub their eyes at that moment, fearing hallucination. Yet their eyes did not deceive them for Sephiroth was indeed ascending empty air.

Though there existed no plateau for the eye to see, the ex-general stopped suddenly. The last few moments had passed by so swiftly like the river's current itself. What a rush! The fall, the surfacing, the ascension…Despite standing over twenty feet in the air the master swordsman experienced not even a tingling of fear. Somehow, Sephiroth always knew he had powers beyond any other before him. Even for a Cetra his might was staggering.

As if a child beseeching a ride on the merry-go-round, Sephiroth whispered, "Mother, may I try this new-found power out? A little spin the air perhaps?"

_Yes, my son, you may. Just remember that your power is limited._

Yet another warning that Sephiroth dismissed. Happiness and energy tickling his fingertips, the ex-general burst across the sky like a falling star on a horizontal path. Such was the energy burning from his tall form that Sephiroth could not be seen at the center; even gazing at him was brilliance bright enough to sear the eyes.

It was a long, long time before he ever came back down.

All good things must come to an end and so it was for Sephiroth. For over two hours he enjoyed a whirl across the darkening skies, his burning form casting light to almost outshine the stars. Then, with the utmost lack of ceremony, the Heir plummeted to the earth. Fortunately he landed in a grassy field within sight of a ranch. Still, the former SOLDIER was rubbing his head for over a half hour later.

The thought of how that ability might have been better served now slipped unbidden into his mind. Tall blades of grass fell to his army boots many of which stuck to his black cloak. The stench was almost unbearable—like a rotten corpse it was. Trudging through this miserable swamp lacked any of the dignity a former Head of SOLDIER normally qualified for.

_I told you to reserve some of your power, both innate and materia-based. I told you to accept a chocobo to hurry past this land. Why have you taken to disobeying your loving mother as of late?_

Sephiroth himself was uncertain as to his unruly behavior. Yes, she tested his patience concerning the nonsense with the clone but he'd never been so utterly difficult to work with. Perhaps the tedium of his current life, or perhaps the fact that now that he'd left Midgar the feelings of that this task, restoring the Cetra, seemed more and more implausible each day.

_Swish_. Sephiroth's gaze dropped to his left boot. Like the feces of some monster, brown goop coated the bottom, one that didn't readily come off. He frowned. The Mythril Swamp certainly gave credence to its inhospitable rumors, though far graver existed within than the miserable terrain. When the Heir stumbled upon a chocobo ranch some few miles off his 'drop-off point' the human there warned Sephiroth of huge serpents prowling the marsh before the mines. He tried to convince the former SOLDIER to buy a chocobo if he was determined to cross.

Tried anyway. After facing the likes of Emerald and the Guardian, a simple snake or two would be like crushing imps. Even with his materia reserves dangerously low (another unfortunate side affect of his ill-advised flight) Sephiroth doubted the zoloms could make him break a sweat.

_I wonder how many other adventurers thought the same thing before falling down the throat of one of those creatures?_

Sephiroth grimaced as he stepped into another deep pool of nameless substance, splashing his cloak and rimming the edges a dusky color. Vanity was hardy a trait of his, yet the Heir found this constant outdoors lifestyle not suited to his tastes. Battling in the jungles of Gongaga and on the beaches of Wutai had been less messy.

A shadow suddenly crossed his path. On alert, the ex-general drew his sword.

_Perhaps you will eat your foolish words now_. Despite the venom in the timbre of her voice, Jenova sounded genuinely concerned. Sephiroth flexed his wrist, Masamune spinning in the air before him. Several of the beasts lurked in the marshes, he knew, but only a single zolom sought him out. Such was the solitary nature of the creatures. It would regret that nature.

At last the Midgar Zolom burst up from the ground, grasses and mud spraying up in its ascent. Slowly, the former SOLDIER's eyes climbed up the leathery green body, his gaze locking with its. It hissed softly. So did Sephiroth. As if of like mind, the opponents circled one another. A glint caught in Sephiroth's eyes. A battle might be just what he needed to strip the boredom from the last few weeks.

Suspending his blade horizontally, at eyelevel, the ex-general waited. Not for long, though. Like a loosed catapult, the Midgar Zolom lunged for Sephiroth tearing up the marsh and spraying slush in the air. Its mouth opened to devour the ex-SOLDIER, but Masamune's steel blade repelled the attack, screeching at impact. At that very last instant, when the beast coiled, he sensed it might bowl him over.

All the while, Sephiroth didn't even blink.

His instinct proved correct and his roll-away wise as the Zolom retreated from the sword and twisted to his right. Seizing the opportunity as he seized Masamune, Sephiroth leapt onto its back, catching hold of a dung-colored fin. Positioning himself, the former SOLDIER hurried toward the head, slashing and hacking several gashes from whence blood burst to stain his trench coat.

Its shriek seemed possessed of paranatural volume. To unseat Sephiroth, the beast twirled over and over again. As a log in a stream, the master swordsman jumped and spun in tune to the turns, not even missing a heartbeat in his assault. More blood. More screams. Upon reaching the apex of the body, he dared a downward cut at the head. This time, he came up short, as the Zolom snaked his gaping mouth at Sephiroth. One back flip, then two, brought the ex-general back at square one. Back to the tail.

Sephiroth voluntarily abandoned his perch then because with the whipping around of the tail his next move, to fall flat on the ground, would not have been so voluntary.

Dropping lightly on one foot and one knee, the former SOLDIER drew a breath. He had not anticipated even the slightest of difficulty and had not made allowances. His materia energy was almost spent. There was little point in self-pity, he noted. It stood to reason that riding a chocobo probably would have avoided this confrontation but then it had been so long since he'd sated the bloodlust.

Just who's blood would be spilt at the end of this was still a matter of dispute.

_Not_ _mine! The blood of the Heir is too sweet a nectar for the foul beasts of the human realm_.

_Next time, listen to your Mother!_

_Oh, Mother, there's always time for a little on-field training…_

No response. He supposed she'd slap one hell of a headache on him for that later.

As the beast dove at him, Sephiroth twisted his body out of harm's way. Instead of wasting the maneuver, the ex-general used the momentum to thrust himself into a cartwheel to land directly at the Zolom's left flank. Then…Slash. Hack. Slash. The deadly dance of katas landed on the scales of the beast lead to more ungodly shrieking.

Deciding to sacrifice a little of his low materia reserves, Sephiroth kept working Masamune above his head to ward off the blows of the beast's tail while he brewed a spell. Fires raged overhead like the lightning of gods striking fast and hard on the Zolom. Perhaps Sephiroth became too lofty; perhaps the beast just lost all patience. Whatever the reason, it outwitted the ex-general by wrapping its tail around his wrist and spinning Sephiroth as a slingshot.

That was not a comfortable thought.

An accurate one, however, as Sephiroth felt his grip break from the sword and he sailed easily thirty feet to land in the muck. Dazed, he spat out rotted vegetation. His ribs rattled in his chest. His stomach did flip-flops. His head hurt damnably. And his hair was probably a most frightful sight.

Damn Hojo and his insistence of long hair!

Infuriated, Sephiroth called upon his innate abilities for floatation, the one he'd discovered a mere day before. Within a heartbeat, the swordsman lifted into the air, his hands rising. The Midgar Zolom hovered as well, as if in preparation for another pass. It had long since discarded the ex-general's weapon and now the shining blade lay upon the marshlands as a lost beam of starlight.

As if summoned by that light reflecting in his own eyes, Sephiroth went after it. Not missing a beat, even as he grasped her hilt, the materia warrior surged forward, blade held high. Fast came his stroke…and just as fast came the tail to wrap around his statuesque body. A scream tore from his throat. Arching his back against the shock and pain, the ex-general found no refuge from the ever-tightening tail.

His hold on Eskallanilna weakened, as did his hold on consciousness….

_No, my son! You must endure because you are the Heir! The fate of our kin, the beloved Cetra, rests in your hands!_

_Cetra…Kin…Heir…Air!_

_Yes! Listen to Mother! Use the power of the Cetra. Fuel the rage with the tragedy that hath befallen us._

As if filling a glass of wine, power surged in the master swordsman's body for the second time in as many days. It bulged at the seams of sanity, driving him to distraction. Sephiroth resisted it briefly; then, with a joyous abandon, let loose the energy. It expanded outward, pure light brighter than a dozen Super Nova's. Shrieking, the Midgar Zolom released his prey and Sephiroth dropped to the ground with a gasp.

Peering through the threads of silver hair, the former SOLDIER watched the beast twisting in the air. What manner of power he possessed, Sephiroth knew naught but the potency could be clearly gauged from the outraged screams of his opponent. That, and the exposed muscles and sinewy flesh from which blood rapidly poured.

_Mother, you spoke truly! I am without a doubt the most formidable force on the Planet. None can stand against my power. I will be crowned the leader of the Cetra people!_

_Concentrate, my son! Your task is not yet done_.

Again, Mother's words held merit, as the serpent darted for him once more. Like a grotesque lance, it shot through the air but missed its target by mere inches. Sephiroth had anticipated the move and fell face-flat in the muck. Wind from the force of its passage stirred his argent tresses and the warrior flipped over to face the beast's underbelly. Masamune bit hard into that soft skin, leaving crisscrossing marks on the Zolom and identical patterns of blood on its wielder.

Immediately after it pulled away Sephiroth stood, attempting to brush off the brown grass from his hair and wipe some of the blood from his clothes. Neither dislodged and he supposed the fee for cleaning would be atrocious indeed. Whipping his blade around, the ex-general studied the serpent's stance. Rather than coil up to spring forth again, the Zolom suspended in the air, blue energy welling at its head.

He didn't know what that meant, but he figured it was unlikely to be a boon.

Whichever, that did not matter. Sephiroth's melodic voice rose steadily as he spoke.

"_Ils eluys Seraph karlma….Dalhilema!"_

Letting his sword arm lower so that Eskallanilna's tip hit the ground, Sephiroth lifted his other hand. Green light sparked at each of his fingertips. Who needed materia? Not he, not the Heir of the Cetras. Before the zolom could complete its spell, a gigantic wooden spear burst up from the earth. It tore into the serpent's flesh, erupting from its head. More blood cascaded in a morbid crimson display.

His display…of power.

_It is impressive, if a bit ostentatious._

Sephiroth sheathed the blade and resumed his trek through the marshlands. Passing through the mines and the mountains would be less arduous now that he'd not need to worry about the zoloms. The sight of their kin slaughtered so brutally would likely deter them. _At least the clone will not have to look hard to find sign of me._

She had no answer for that.

Junon Harbor. How long had it been since the materia warrior strolled these avenues? Over five years. Like much of the Planet little had changed. The gulls still dipped low across the horizon. The sailors still hurried from post to ship, nearly losing their white hats. The thugs still prowled the streets, looking for an unwary tourist. Junon had never been a low-crime city but under the guidance of Sephiroth the elite force of SOLDIER had reduced the levels to a somewhat acceptable level.

Had, anyway. Since his disappearance, Junon had slipped further into its crime-filled decline.

What could one expect from such lowly humans?

_Entirely too much, apparently. A part of you yearns for some sign that the humans can be saved. _A sigh from his matriarch._ I suppose there's no help for it. Your upbringing with the humans has bred some sickly sympathy for their race. Have you forgotten what they did to _your_ race? To your Mother? To you?_

"Never!" Sephiroth shouted vehemently, hand closing around Eskallanilna's hilt. An old couple stared in his direction, bewildered and a bit frightened. Annoyed at his outburst, the materia warrior glared at them, sending the couple scurrying away. Slowly he spoke in his head, mindful not to let the words slip from his lips. _My dim hope was to see at least some semblance of my leadership._

_A wasted effort, my child. See an example of that now…_

The former SOLDIER turned his head to see a woman running from one of the run-down houses.

"Oh, woe!" cried she. To Sephiroth's surprise and amusement, she bent over the railing of the Harbor still shouting all manners of nonsense. Then, the woman cast a depreciating glance his way. "My love has rejected me—life is not worth living anymore!"

"I will help you," the materia warrior said, light from the water glinting in his eyes. At first the woman started, face clouded in suspicion. As his hand extended to her, the woman reconsidered, gladly grabbing him at the wrist. She had just a spilt second to witness his smile twist before he hurled her from the railing and sent her spinning into the mako-filthy waters. To Sephiroth, the woman gave a most satisfying squeal.

For a moment the former SOLDIER waited, watching the air bubbles fade. She did not surface.

_One less foolish human the Planet has to worry about._

Despite her natural response to his wanton use of violence, Mother actually chuckled. That tingling sensation sang in his blood. She did not comment; she did not need to. Her delight continued to suffuse his form as the materia warrior continued on, passing a set of houses that seriously required a paint job and some ragged-looking citizens.

Sephiroth glanced among them, noting that none would probably have the answers he sought. His gaze floated to a single guard standing ward of a ship. It amazed the ex-general that Shin-ra still deployed guards in single units. After the massacre at Gongaga some seven years ago, Sephiroth had thought they wizened. A dozen citizens of the town killed a few guards in retaliation of the Mako reactor's construction in that area. It had caused some mako poisoning in those citizens and they'd slaughtered the Shin-ra employees almost to a man. Had Sephiroth not intervened none would live to speak of the horror.

Apparently surviving to tell the tale didn't matter—Shin-ra just didn't care.

Stealing in shadows, Sephiroth slipped behind the guard. As his blade slid up the man's spine he stiffened. The bottle he'd been holding dropped him shaking hands and the ex-general's hand darted out to catch it then set it aside. In a voice as menacing as he could manage, Sephiroth whispered, "Not one word. Follow me."

He could only imagine what the guard was thinking, but the man did as was bid. Sephiroth half-dragged, half-led him within the shadows of an alleyway. The stench of offal irritated the Heir but he dismissed it from his attention. Shadows from the shops to the left and right concealed them though the ex-general wasn't terribly concerned, anyway. "Speak fast and true: Where is Rufus Shin-ra?"

"I—I—I—don't—don't know!"

"Wrong answer." The former SOLDIER pulled Masamune back for a strike. He made sure the guard could see it.

"N—No! Wait! He—He—sometimes visits a….bar! It's—called—Temptations!"

Narrowing his deep green eyes, Sephiroth spun the man around to face him. The guard gasped and his mouth hung open. Even in the murky light, the man could see those eyes, read his death in them. For a moment, the former SOLDIER just bored his eyes into the man's soul, peeling his defenses and securing the truth. Satisfied, Sephiroth nodded as his hand snaked up.

"Wait!"

The blade burst through his torso, splattering blood. His face twisting the man dropped to the cold stone. "Wha—Damn! You said….I…I would live! Yes, live, if I told—you!"

Ignoring the dying man for now, the former SOLDIER prepare to leave when Mother came crashing into his head. _Wait! You cannot enter a tavern as you now are._ _You are a much recognized figure._ Even as Jenova articulated her concerns they became readily evident to her son. _If you insist on pursuing this course of action, at least do so with a measure of caution. The Cetras have long held the ability for metamorphism._

A smirk crawled into Sephiroth's lips. More power at his fingertips? The ability for transformation would be useful thing indeed. The ex-general stretched, reaching within for the energy. Appearing as himself at the tavern would likely start off a chain of events that could ensure Rufus' escape. Appearing as someone else, someone less note-worthy, probably would not.

Blue light hallowed his form, spinning and twisting. It lifted his silvery hair, shading it a light sapphire. His thoughts concentrated on a single image, that of his former subcommander Terrence. Only the physical attributes altered; his attire and personal effects remained the same. Terrence's level of authority would be enough to gain him access without question, but lacked the fear and hatred Sephiroth's image entailed.

As he stepped back into the street, Sephiroth glanced over a shoulder, recalling the words of his victim. "Since when did we make that agreement?" His black cloak stained red as the master swordsman cleaned his blade on the fabric. As if an afterthought, he added, "I did make your death swift for your honesty. Take solace in that for however long you can."

That wasn't long—the man died a few minutes after that.

Upon entering _Temptations _a myriad of sights and sounds assaulted Sephiroth. The materia warrior gagged slightly on the smoke and human stench, covering his mouth with his cloak. He direly wished he could do the same with his eyes. Though the tavern was of good repair, only a few of patrons were themselves. Most sprawled on the bar and the others huddled around a stage, pudgy flesh crinkling at each whoop.

"Humanity in all its glory," the master swordsman muttered as he took a stool by the bar. With a snap of his fingers and the barmaid came scurrying. After serving him an Angel's Poison at his request, the scantily-clad girl bent forward affording him a generous view and asked sweetly if there were anything else he'd need. "A bed, perhaps? I know of one you can borrow—for the night."

He shot her a cold glare and that was enough to persuade her to tend to the customers. Downing the drink in a single shot (and drawing a few approving looks from the other patrons) Sephiroth spun around to monitor the entrance. Occasionally a gaudily-dressed woman with a suit-and-tie man would pass by, blocking his view. That didn't last, though, with a momentary narrow of his ice-blue eyes.

The shade of his eyes mattered not—rather how he put them to use.

Though Sephiroth normally remained above such things, morbid curiosity lured his gaze to the sight on the neon-lit stage. Not a new experience for him. The master swordsman attended the wedding of the very 'friend' he emulated, after all. Sephiroth smirked as his fingers met no smooth long hair but rather the edges of black wisps. He'd thought the rare moment of being free of the troublesome tresses would be a relief, but the materia warrior actually found its absence slightly unsettling.

Without returning his gaze to the bar, Sephiroth tapped an index finger for a refill. He didn't have to wait long for a slight splash and he brought the liquid to his lips, eying the stage again. Terrence's wedding party had been much like the display occurring now, something that left the former general dumbfounded. Not entirely unworldly (having been victim to a few social functions) still Sephiroth shook his head in remembrance of his sub-commander behaving in such a distasteful manner.

A whole night wasted dragging his subordinates home when he'd preferred training.

A pink furry bra landed in Sephiroth's cup just as he was about to take another gulp. Between thumb and forefinger he plucked out the article of clothing, face clouded with annoyance. The ex-general's eyes floated up to its owner, the blonde woman on stage with its matching bottom. She winked, smiled, and blew a kiss at him.

Had a couple not strolled in _Temptations_ at that moment, Sephiroth might have strangled the insolent woman with her own bra. But his attention was immediately riveted on a young man in a white coat with an arm around a woman donning a shamelessly-advertising red dress. The man waved perfunctory, a gesture that stirred his sun-gold hair. The motions, the sneer, the entire persona were as a storm to the ex-SOLDIER's senses. Even if he had not met the younger Shin-ra before, Sephiroth would have identified him on the spot from the sheer shades of his father.

Rufus Shin-ra, son of the late Russell Shin-ra.

_Mother, that's him. Slaying the new President would bring more chaos to our hated enemies._

_It is as I told you, willful child—he is merely a figurehead. Our true task lies not with the assassination of a few leaders but rather with joining the Planet with the Promised Land to restore the Cetras. This is more pointless meandering!_

_I'm sorry you feel that way, Mother, but my vision is of greater scope. He is the Heir of the Humans, the new head of the snake. It is time to end that miserable line, to tear the ivory tower down._

Jenova's protests crashed into his head, but Sephiroth's fury flared beyond recourse. Growling, the ex-general cast the bra and his cup aside. The former flew into the lap of a customer (quite pleased by that) and the other smashed to a million pieces on the floor. Smiling delightfully, Sephiroth strode to his adversary all the while the barmaid screamed at his back about who would pay for that.

Cutting across the distance with the speed of an assassin, Sephiroth's hand dipped to his side where Masamune hung. The new Head of Shin-ra didn't even notice his approach so caught up on proclaiming the Huge Materia to be Scarlet's chest. That drew a healthy round of laughter from his seated associates and even Scarlet herself. Rufus took heed, however, when the master swordsman thrust aside his nearest bodyguard and lifted him a foot off the ground in a chokehold.

Scarlet shrieked louder than the shattering glass. Everyone else ceased their various activities to gaze open-mouthed, even the men engaged with the woman on stage. Rufus squealed, his fingers clawing at the fist around his neck. Tearing a tentacle off Ruby Weapon would have been easier. When that became evident, the President gasped, "The hell—what do you want? Who are you!"

It was an interesting contrast—the pillar-still Sephiroth clutching a flailing Rufus. Amusing, if a person had the presence of mind to be amused considering that most worried more about their bodily functions. Even as Terrence, Sephiroth carried a certain intensity and dominance. The materia warrior kept his tone cold, full of malice. "I am the Heir."

"The air!" Rufus' baby blue eyes bulged and not only from the lack of oxygen. And they certainly magnified even more when Sephiroth slid Masamune out of her sheath. It climbed up steadily to touch the dead center of Rufus's forehead like the barrel of a gun.

"I am the Heir. Jenova's son. The mortal enemy of the humans. Face your mortality, human-spawn, to pay for the crimes committed against the Cetras!"

At that last word, shots cut through the air. Sephiroth gasped as fiery pain blazed up his spine from two bullets lodged there. He stumbled to a knee, Masamune clanging to the ground at the same instant. Rufus landed heavily too, but remained less than a blink's duration, climbing to his feet and being swarmed by his bodyguards. Sephiroth longed to rush at the human but he had more pressing matters.

Pressing matters of the unscheduled remanifestation of his true identity. Light poured out of his body, swirling in the same blue streaks as his transformation. Again the former SOLDIER's hair floated up like silver threads. The image of his long-dead comrade vanished and the appearance of the most feared man on the Planet sent a chorus of howls throughout the room.

Grunting with pain, growling with rage, the materia warrior spun on his heel even as he rose. Eskallanilna cleanly cut through a Shin-ra guard, splitting his skull in half. Then, he reversed the stroke to behead a bouncer. More screams cut through the air, followed by the shattering of glass and bottles. Lightning snaked from Rufus' general direction and Sephiroth swung up with his blade. It deflected the bolt and redirected it into the chests of two of the President's bodyguards.

"You will not escape the wrath of the Cetra," Sephiroth hissed as he cut a path of blood.

"No, wait!" Rufus threw up his hands like a white flag of surrender. "I was searching for you—but not to kill you. You did an excellent job assassinating my father. I will reward you richly for your assistance in eliminating that threat to my power. I will give you a seat on the Board of Directors—right next to me. We need not be enemies!"

"You are human and thus my enemy." Sephiroth said not another word, preferring as was his custom, actions to words. His assault was delayed however, as guns fired forcing him into a sidelong roll. He came out of it right next to a small table and sprang up on it. As more bullets sailed harmlessly past, the master swordsman back flipped onto the stage. The blonde woman screamed. He did a brief double take as he recognized her as the famous (or infamous, according to him) pop singer, Sally Sugar.

"Sorry, Sugar." His tone was hardly apologetic as he tossed her off the stage and she sailed into three shooting guards. Sephiroth half-turned to catch a glimpse of the new president vanishing by way of a Flight Materia. Gripping the pole, the materia warrior whipped around it, a hairs-breath ahead of the bullets. Then he used the momentum to hurl himself into the crowd of customers and guards, flooring them.

If not for Rufus' escape, this might have been deemed an enjoyable time for him.

Out came Masamune, a blinding blade of death, slicing into throats, chests and faces. Then a bouncer in the far corner rapid-fired at him. Sephiroth twirled his sword in front, sending the bullets everywhere but in his own gut. Patrons and guards dropped like flies, blood mixing with Kalm tequila and Midgar beer.

_Will you please cease this foolishness? Rufus is not our objective. We must protect the clone!_

Utterly ignoring the shrieking voice in his head, the Heir ran a cloth down Masamune's blade and then departed _Temptations. _Sephiroth could not begin to understand Jenova's insistence of safeguarding the clone. Despite handing him some hefty explanations Mother actually danced about the truth, disguising logic with emotion. It surprised Sephiroth that she didn't attack him with a headache, seeming to go silent as he turned left down a filthy avenue.

Slipping under the dull red banner with 'Rufus' etched on it, Sephiroth could safely conclude that he remained on the right track. Locating the ship posed no difficulty, certainly not for one accustomed to sea-faring ships. Though the ex-general conducted most of his military business on land, from time to time, duties required his presence on a boat. Duties, and sometimes vacations.

Of course, sometimes those two overlapped—as in the hostile takeover of _Miranda_ some six years ago.

This ship, the _Albrook_, readied to cast off. Sephiroth smirked as its door closed fast, taking his time. Then, in a sudden shift of speed, the former SOLDIER sprang over the lip and into the ship itself. A mere mortal would have been instantly crushed, mangled body left to be discovered by the dock workers. Mortality's definition didn't apply him, however, and Sephiroth strode the dark hallway.

His boots making little sound on the steel floor, Sephiroth crawled his fingers down Masamune's length, from tip to hilt. They halted at the latter, encountering several materia orbs. With a single word, he activated them all, and the hallway lit up in a five-color spectrum. Squinting his green eyes, the Heir noted a hatch above and decided that it was as good place as any to commence his search of Rufus.

After he flipped open the hatch, Sephiroth swung up to the next level. Five boxes labeled with the five materia partially blocked his view of the rest of the room. Not sufficiently enough in his opinion, though. The sight that befell his gaze make the Heir gasp, not in shock, but anger. Four SOLDIERs, one Shin-ra guard and two dock workers hurled a young girl between themselves, her dress fast becoming shreds beneath their avaricious hands.

His mind was sent careening back…

_A circle of six boys entrapping a younger, smaller child of silver hair. At first, they'd tossed his hat counter-clock wise several times, but it transformed into a stone. Many stones. All hurled at the little boy who crouched to deflect them._

A shriek of rage burst from his thin lips, startling all in the room including himself. Logically the Heir understood that his fury formed not from his concern for the girl—she was human, after all—but at the further degeneration of his former company. SOLDIER had never been a saintly organization but under his leadership had developed a sense pride, honor, dignity and grace.

None of which he viewed now.

In a moment of inspiration, the Heir struck the nearest crate next to him with Masamune. It let fly dozens of red materia orbs pelting the humans like a wave of blood. Reversing the stroke, Sephiroth smashed open another box, this one of blue materia. Shots rang out, but the former SOLDIER deftly dodged them, leaping onto the materia and riding them right to his opponents.

Sephiroth twisted his wrist cutting a Shin-ra guard and a SOLDIER down where they stood. Blood from their hacked bodies lubricated the orbs, but the Heir kept his wits about him along his footing. As a SOLDIER slashed at him, Sephiroth parried with Masamune. In the same instant the former general threw up a weak shield to deflect some bullets from another SOLDIER. Swiftly, Sephiroth made short work of both, impaling the first and incinerating the other.

Making the mistake of his life, quite literally so, one of the remaining SOLDIERs lifted a gun. He didn't even have the chance to shoot before Sephiroth sliced off the arm holding it, spewing blood on the steel floor. Howling did him little good since the Heir simply then took off his head. On instinct, Sephiroth spun the blade behind himself, smirking as he heard the ring of six bullets bouncing off.

_Oh, Mother, why do you think they even bother? Don't they see their death in my eyes?_

_Perhaps if you left them alone they'd not bother you at all_.

That reasoning baffled the Heir. After he swiftly slaughtered the remaining humans, including the girl, Sephiroth wiped his blade on a hanging banner of Shin-ra. He'd not meant to kill the woman but she'd been in the way of his lightning bolts and was a human, besides. She'd likely wronged the Planet at some point. Mother's desire to save the humans was most uncharacteristic.

_You misunderstand me, son. I don't desire to prolong their miserable existence—I'm attempting to save yours. _Sephiroth fell silent, expecting an explanation. It wasn't long in coming._ The sight of justice wrecked upon the humans brings me much joy. But I cannot enjoy that sight knowing it'll only bring their wrath that much swifter._

_Let them come! Nothing can stand before my might! _More Sephiroth had to add, but then the sound of clapping reached his ears.

"Impressive. You would have made a fantastic Turk. Of course you lack a certain subtlety."

His silver hair fanning as stardust, the former SOLDIER spun around. On one of the crates sat a man in a navy suit. Three Turks hovered by him—a blonde, too-eager to please, woman, a man with the wildest red hair Sephiroth had ever seen and a bald, tanned man. Despite not recognizing the last three, only noting their occupation due to their attire, the ex-general remembered the first Turk vaguely.

"Tseng. It's been a long time."

"Hasn't it?" Tseng said as he crossed his arms. "You've been on page one of the Midgar Telegram for quite some time."

"Only a few killings here and there," came Sephiroth's cold reply. "Something that should be quite familiar to you."

The Turk opened his mouth, but his red-haired subordinate cut him to the chase. "Oh, Sephiroth why'd you have to kill that lovely-looking girl? She'd have made a willing conquest."

An ugly grimace spread across the ex-general's handsome face. "And what...allow you humans to procreate? I did the Planet a favor." Throwing his cape behind, Sephiroth tossed Masamune in the air, catching it with barely a blink. "I shall continue that trend and you will all meet a similar fate."

Tseng shook his head. "We are not your enemies." His subordinates gave him odd looks for that.

"As I told your wretched leader: you are human and thus my enemy. When we meet next you will die."

"A threat?"

Sephiroth chuckled, amused at the human gesture. "Prophecy spoken by the Cetra." With that, the Heir spun on a heel, black cloak whipping out at his exit. The Turks muttered amongst themselves but took no action against him. Sephiroth continued to the room beyond without fear of reprisals. Only the insane, or desperate, would do so.

The smell of mako was stronger here than elsewhere in the ship. The control room contained only two Shin-ra guards and both fell to blade as easily as butter to a knife. Broken pipes and shattered stairs forced Sephiroth to scrunch down as he made his way to the other end of the room with the control station. With a tap of his finger and the former general brought the screen to life.

Digital. Not exactly up to current standards. Still it would suffice. Sinking the ship would be an easy solution to his annoying problem, that of the snake Rufus.

_Sephiroth, don't you dare! The clone is aboard and we need him to finish the mission._

His finger halted over the button. _The clone is here? On this very boat?_

_Watch out!_

"What?" His hand moved independent of his brain, slashing out with Masamune. The blade bit hard into the flesh of a Shin-ra guard, killing him in an instant. The dropping of the body revealed another, that of a young man with absurd blonde hair. Others accompanied him, but, for the moment, all Sephiroth could do was stare at him.

_Mother, that's him! The clone. The man you say is the key to reaching the Promised Land. _

_Yes. You must keep him alive at all costs. Lead him to Nibelhiem._

_Nibelhiem! Why that miserable town?_

_Because there you shall find the secrets to restoring the Cetra people. After a long sleep I shall finally see my son upon the throne. Be strong my son. Resist the urge to slay him. The time has come for your ascension. _

Sephiroth was unaware he spoke out loud as he responded. "…The time…time...has come…?"

The clone's face contorted. "Sephiroth! You're alive!"

For a long moment, the former SOLDIER leveled a hard stare on him. There could be no errors, he understood. "….Who are you?"

"You don't remember me? I'm Cloud!"

A smirk replaced the glare. "Cloud…" he hissed, delighted.

The clone's companions shot him concerned looks, but Cloud paid them no attention. Having secured the identity, Sephiroth let his glance slip to another. That other, Aeris. The young flower girl twisted a strand of brown hair around her finger, her head titled, studying him. That green-eyed gaze pierced the former SOLDIER as if determined to peel the layers of soul.

_Remember dear child. She will beguile you with her beauty; deceive you into believing she is harmless_.

A chiding at his earlier weakness, a weakness Sephiroth would not repeat. He'd earned that, he knew. His eyes shouldn't have even floated over to hers yet they lingered longer than a heartbeat. The master swordsman's hand slipped down to Masamune, wondering how it feel like to pierce the lying heart of the Crisis, the beautiful beast that had betrayed his people…

"Sephiroth, what are you thinking! What are you doing?"

_It is time you are off, my son. Leave them to me. I will distract them while you flee down the ventilation shaft. _

Sephiroth wrinkled his nose. _I do not fear them. They could do me no harm._

_I fear not for your safety—it is for them I fear. _

A sound enough response. His Mother was well aware of her son's hatred of Cloud. She would not allow his thirst for vengeance to threaten their mission. Just as well for Sephiroth had no such compulsion to control that desire. "The time…is now…" Not believing the clone worthy of any further explanation, the Heir flicked his wrist. Light and smoke sprang before him.

Like a shadow, Sephiroth slipped into the vents and out of sight.

_"What a formidable opponent!" Luke gasped as his eyes passed over the text of Sephiroth's slayings. __His red cloak nearly encompassing his entire person, Vincent merely gazed sternly at the reporter. He'd known most of all this before and guessed what he hadn't. The reporter pushed the glasses up his nose, "I guess not being human really helped him, eh?"_

_Vincent leapt down from the coffin in a fell swoop that startled his guest. "Sephiroth is as human as you or I. Demonizing him does not negate the fact that he carries our race's blood."_

_"But, I thought—"_

_"You thought what most others thought, still think: That Sephiroth had some foreign blood in his veins…that the truth of his powers stemmed from Cetra as he himself believed."_

_"Well, not quite that—"_

_A glare from the former Turk silenced Luke. "I told you already: Sephiroth has a human mother. Lucrecia…" That glare melted into the saddest expression the reporter had ever seen. Mistakenly thinking that Vincent needed some comfort, Luke draped an arm on his shoulder. That arm snapped right back as Vincent's glare returned tenfold._

_"Oh," Luke stammered, "Yes, that's right, you did! Well, he has no father then I suppose—"_

_"He has a father."_

_"Oh! And he is?"_

_At last a smile peeked at the former Turk's lips. "Patience, dear reporter. The story is not yet over."_

_"All in due time?" Luke sighed unhappily._

_"All in due time."_


End file.
